


Trails Run Cold

by Hoglorfen (LadyWhin)



Series: In The Glow Of The Mountain [7]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Action/Adventure, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Biting, Blood and Gore, Consensual Violence, Dark, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Bestiality, M/M, Manipulation, Master/Slave, Mordor, Multi, Oral Sex, Orc Culture, Orcs, Orgy, Pack Dynamics, Pain, Past Sexual Abuse, Politics, Psychological Trauma, Torture, Violent Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-05
Updated: 2017-06-20
Packaged: 2018-06-06 15:04:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 30
Words: 237,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6758911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyWhin/pseuds/Hoglorfen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The rebels are slain or routed, the supplies are refilled, the sanity is (somewhat) restored, the equipment is just as crap as it was on the road south. The time has come to face an old enemy and the stakes are higher than ever before as Záhovar and her motley crew journey into the political hotspot that is Rhûn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bloody Boats

Praktash woke up from the strangest sensation. Having been too tired to walk back to the garrisons the previous day, Graznikh had decided to sleep in one of the guest rooms in the fortress instead and Praktash had stayed to keep him company. Now he lay wrapped up in soft hemp cloth, wondering over the odd sensation that had woken him up. There it was again, and now he knew what caused it; Graznikh was ever so gently rubbing his lips against the back of his ear, purring softly.  
”Mmmh... Buddy?”  
”Hmm..?” Graznikh hummed and rubbed his nose against his buddy's cheek.  
”What'cha doin'?”  
”Don't like it?”  
”Yeah, but...” He turned around and found Graznikh looking back at him with the kind of smile that Praktash had almost lost hope of ever seeing on his face again. He completely forgot was he was going to say as he drowned in the Orc fighter's warm, red eyes. They simply lay like that for a moment. Then Praktash squeaked and fell out of the bed as Graznikh unexpectedly tickled him with his claws.  
”Don't _do_ that!!”  
”Don't like it?” Graznikh chuckled with a big, teasing grin and snapped his fangs at him. Praktash stared at him briefly. Then he leered, grabbed a pillow and threw himself back into bed with a roar. After a brief but vicious playfight that sent down and pieces of hemp cloth flying they fell back onto the bed, gasping and laughing.  
”I'M SO FUCKIN' HAPPY!!!” Praktash roared before he buried his face into Graznikh's hair.  
”I MISSED YOU TOO!!!” Graznikh roared back and started laughing.  
”You're crazy,” Praktash snickered.  
”Well, if I was normal before then I don't mind being crazy!”  
Praktash couldn't stop grinning. ”So you're back for real now? You're fine?”  
”Never been better!” Graznikh stretched with a groan and a pleased wince. ”Skai, I feel like this was the first decent sleep I've had in weeks. Moons, even.” He looked down as Praktash crawled onto him and rested his head on his chest. ”How 'bout you?”  
”I'm great,” Praktash whispered. ”Y'know, I think I'm gonna be a little selfish for a while now. I've been so busy botherin' myself sick over others this whole trip.” He purred as Graznikh scratched him behind the ear.  
”You do that, buddy. Eye knows you've earned it.”  
They lay quiet for a while. Then Praktash grinned and slowly began to crawl upwards until he covered Graznikh entirely and pressed his lips against his ear while humping his thigh.  
”I've got an idea,” he whispered with a purr.  
”Oh, really?”  
”Let's fuck.”  
”Great idea... Top or bottom?”  
”That's the idea,” Praktash purred. ”I start out on top. When you spunk, we switch places. Whoever lasts longest finishes on top. Whaddya say?”  
Graznikh chuckled. ”Did ya think I would say no to that?”  
”Nar, not really...” Praktash murmured as he reached for his belt pockets. Soon after, claws, sharp teeth and soft lips raised the temperature in the room several degrees to the sound of gasping and grunting.

Meanwhile, Záhovar had returned to the tavern. Despite Dachman's absence, she was not comfortable with staying in another High Officer's seat of power and had decided to brave the risk of a second poisoning. But she felt cold, and no amount of blankets or wood put on the fire seemed to keep the chill at bay. Eventually she gave up on trying to sleep but remained in bed, studying the roughly hewn beams in the ceiling while plotting her next move.  
_One string is firmly tied and another is once more secured. Praktash's frolics are only in my favour; if I can get Margzat firmly under my control and elevate Mûrnaluzh in his stead, they will both be bound to me by debt of gratitude. A few of the others have shown some promise as well... Perhaps they will follow their pack leader._ She smiled as she fluffed up the pillow and made herself comfortable. _Perhaps that pack sense can be used in other ways too? A few examples, gifts and displays of... power... might bind them to me as securely as Graznikh and Sulmurz are._ The memory of the latter and their recent activities brought a tingle of warmth. That one would be donning a collar when they returned whether he wanted to or not, Záhovar decided. _But keeping him solely for such activities might be a waste of resources I do not yet have. I wonder if he has any other hidden skills that could be coaxed out? I shall have to find out.  
_ Eventually the chill grew too much to bear. After washing herself with steaming water that should be too hot but that felt only lukewarm, she dressed, donned her armour and went to the Uruk garrison to discuss the changed circumstances and eventual prolonged service with Margzat.  
The krîtar happily agreed, but a few of the other Uruks grumbled.  
”What?!” Mûrnaluzh exclaimed when he was informed of the news. ”We just bloody got here, now we're off again? Ya said we were gonna get a proper breather!”  
”Plans change,” Margzat rumbled. ”Don't like it? Go file a complaint in three copies to the Archives.”  
”Fuck off! You only said yes 'cause your little fucktoy's going!” Mûrnaluzh opened his mouth to say more, but by then he was already pinned to the wall by Margzat's weight as the krîtar backed him up against it with a thundering growl.  
”Ya got a problem with that? How 'bout it's none o' yer fuckin' business why I do or don't do somethin'! Yer job's to follow orders'n shut up!”  
”Fucking half-troll,” Mûrnaluzh growled but winced as his ribcage grated against the stone as Margzat pushed harder.  
”Watch it, ya stuck-up little spunk-snorter! Most o' yer lackeys're dead; ye're alone here, an' nobody would give a single fuck if I rammed yer arse so hard ya licked the tip o' my cock better than Praktash on a good day. How d'ya like that?”  
Mûrnaluzh tried to growl, but the only sound he could make was a pained rattle. Margzat growled louder when he did not reply and he managed to shake his head just before he lost consciousness. The krîtar backed away and let him fall to the ground.  
”Any more complaints?” he growled and nodded with satisfaction when all that met him was a wave of shaking heads. ”Well, then. 'At's settled.” He turned back to Záhovar. ”Ready to leave when ya are, Lug-durbatar.”  
Záhovar gave him a nod of approval. ”Meet me on the docks at dawn.” She turned to leave, but hesitated in the door. ”Walk with me.”

Margzat followed her without a word. After sending the nearest Uruks off to secure the area and keep others from entering, Záhovar stopped on the top of the low wall that surrounded the garrison.  
”Have you thought any more on my offer?”  
”Aye,” Margzat replied. ”I'll do it.”  
Her eyes narrowed and she gave him a scrutinising look. ”Why?”  
Margzat looked uneasy for a moment. ”'Cause... Ye're a solid commander, the pay's good, an'-”  
”How much of a part does Praktash play in your decision? Have you spoken to him about this?”  
”Nar... Nar, I haven't. Put me under compulsion an' ask me the same if ya don't believe me. He's one o' the reasons, but not the only one. He's good, but I wouldn't bend over for a snaga just for him. I'm thinkin' I'll be doin' 'at for Graznikh once ya put the collar on me, right?”  
”That remains to be seen.”  
He grinned a little. ”Right... The real reason's... I'm sick'n tired o' the whole krîtar deal.” He swallowed as Záhovar arched an eyebrow. ”I'm not... I know 'at doesn't matter, but 'at's how it is. Nobody gives a shit whether I like my job or not, long as I do it proper. An' if I don't, I'm dead. I get that. But I don't like it. Never did. I started bossin' others around 'cause I had enough o' bein' challenged all the time 'cause o' my size. Ended up on top more often than not. Then someone figured a big, bossy bastard'd make a good Captain, an' from then on it just got worse. Couldn't back out either. Now I can, an' I'd be an idiot not to take that chance.”  
”Then I shall make the necessary arrangements. You will not be officially under my command until the paperwork is finished and your transfer is complete, which will not be until we return.”  
Margzat nodded. ”Lookin' forward to servin' ya, Lug-durbatar.”  
”One last question then, before I let you go; there are a few vacancies in the uzhâk. Have you thought about filling the ranks?”  
”Aye, got a few in mind. Two're ulmukhatâr I've had under my command before, one's new but I've heard good stuff 'bout him from several different mouths. Tried him on the sparrin' grounds last night too; he's solid.”  
Záhovar nodded. ”Good.”  
Margzat hesitated briefly before speaking again. ”If ya don't mind my askin', Lug-durbatar... What's the task? What're we up against?”  
”The master of Thaurband,” she replied. ”He disappeared without having leave to do so just before we passed through here on the way south, and I am to hunt him down.”  
”Lord Dachman's gone rogue?” Margzat began to worry his lip as Záhovar nodded. ”Skai...”  
”This will be the true test for all of us. Not only does he have a headstart, he is also a skilled and seasoned sorcerer.”  
”Never thought I'd go up 'gainst a High Officer... Though I'm thinkin' he's not one anymore, right?”  
”If he was, this would have been regular High Officer rivalry and I would not have brought you along.”  
”Right... We'll catch him, Lug-durbatar.”  
Záhovar inclined her head and gave him a creepy little smile before turning to leave. ”I place great faith in you, krîtar. Do not let me down.”

  
Since they were going to leave again, Praktash took the opportunity to restock his supplies and add some extra stuff that he had missed during the previous trip. _But first I need a way to pay for it all._ That thought brought him to the local Quartermaster's office.  
The Quartermaster was not a single individual but an administrative office, much like the Census Archives. It was in charge of the flow of goods, the minting of Eye tokens and the payment of salaries in the Black Land. Tokens came in five different values and were minted only in Lugburz using a secret alloy. It was as strong as steel but more flexible, jet black in colour and could only be found in the Eye tokens of Lugburz and the formal outfits of the High Officers.  
The size of salaries generally depended on the size of the garrison where one was stationed, the number of days since the latest widespread quarrel and the success of the latest mission. It was paid out to the Low Officers who had free hands when it came to passing it on to the grunts they were in charge of. This meant that the salaries on the bottom of the hierarchy could vary from fairly decent if you had an altruistic commander to nonexistent if you were unlucky enough to have a greedy one. It also varied depending on how much your commander liked you and on his mood on salary night. Greedy commanders rarely lasted long unless they had a surefire way of asserting themselves and protect their stash, because the only way to get more than your current share was by stealing, bullying, gambling or simply killing someone and take theirs. That was also how most gear beyond the basic sets went around.  
Being a Lug-snaga meant that Praktash suddenly had more tokens than he had ever had while living in the stash room near East Gate, despite the success of his business. He quickly hid them away before someone else could see and made sure that his belt pockets were placed so that no cutpurse snaga could reach them. A part of him hoped that someone would be stupid enough to try; that would mean that he would get a free shag before leaving civilised lands once more. But no snaga tried to reach for his pockets as he walked through the Great Market of Thaurband.

Even though most basic goods in the Black Land went through the Quartermaster, trade was still welcome and the markets of both Lugburz and Thaurband were always buzzing with activity. Tonight was no exception, and Praktash enjoyed sauntering along the torchlit stands, drinking in the scents, sounds and sights of home. Soon he found what he was looking for; a merchant who dealed in herbs and drugs, both medicinal and recreational. Bartering was illegal but the merchants set their own prices, and after assessing the stock he decided that this one was leaning towards the overpriced side. He was about to move on when he spotted a jar full of little white pebbles that made him smile and change his mind.  
”Hey,” he said. ”You know how to read Maushur?”  
”Wouldn't be in this business if I didn't,” the dark-skinned Man replied.  
”Right. I need the stuff on this list.”  
The man carefully read the note and gave him and his iron collar a look of pure scepticism. ”I take it your master knows what he's doing.”  
”This is for myself.”  
An even more sceptical look was given. ”Do _you_ know what you're doing?”  
Praktash chuckled. ”Ever heard the name 'Praktash'?”  
The merchant's eyes widened slightly. ”I have indeed. Mêr-Anchi spoke very well of him.”  
”Of _me_ ,” Praktash corrected. ”Though I haven't had much time to make stuff for profit lately. Been mixed up in High Officer business. Still is. He's still in business then?”  
The merchant nodded. ”Still makes the run to Lugburz every now and then. I prefer Thaurband myself; the food beyond Nurza-Shûk does not agree with me.”  
”I could probably whip somethin' up to help with that,” Praktash murmured and the merchant laughed.  
”I'm sure you could, but it would be a price to pay for further effort. No, I prefer to stay where the Sun shines. Do send my regards to Mêr-Anchi if you ever meet him.”  
”Whose regards should I send?”  
”Ker-Bandhir.”  
”I'll see if I remember. Say; how much for the silicone?”  
”Thirty.”  
Praktash's eyebrows shot up. ”For one cup?”  
”One spoon.”  
”Are you crazy?! That's ridiculous!”  
”Not after the factory in Udûn blew up last week. It's some of the last pure stuff to be had until they've rebuilt the place.”  
”I didn't know that. What happened?”  
”From what I've heard, someone forgot to open one of the steam valves. Then the Mountain had an unusually powerful eruption and the pressure built far higher than what the smelting facility could handle.”  
”Guess it's not foolproof, usin' that as a power source. Mind if I double check that info?”  
”You could, but I'm not holding onto this until you come back. Take your chances.”  
Praktash worried his lower lip as he tried to make up his mind. Ker-Bandhir could be trying to rip him off, but if he was right then Praktash would soon be all out of this particular, important ingredient and unable to find more for quite a while. The silicone factory in Udûn was the largest of three; the market would run dry very fast when supply could no longer meet demand. The white, semitranslucent substance was mainly used as a grease for cartwheels and other moving parts in war machines, factories and armouries; this made it highly sought after but hard to come by since the Quartermaster reserved the vast majority of it for the war effort. But Praktash's connections within the trade network meant that he could almost always get some without paying ridiculous sums for it, at least up until this moment.  
The idea to use it as lube for sexual activities was probably as old as the discovery of the substance itself, but Praktash prided himself on being the one to develop the secret blend of aphrodisiacs and sensitivity-enhancing drugs that he mixed it with, making his lube even more sought-after than pure silicone and leaving his name a blessing on the exhausted lips of every Orc, Uruk or Man in the Black Land happy enough to get their hands on a jar. He even suspected that a few of the larger orders he had recieved in the past came from Top Ones, going down through several middlemen to not tarnish the true customer's reputation.  
Eventually he sighed. ”Fine, I'll take four. This shit better be pure.”  
”You work for an Officer, you say?” Ker-Bandhir asked as he took a tin jar and began to pour the white pebbles into it. ”Which one?”  
”Záhovar.”  
Ker-Bandhir looked up sharply. ”Not... the pale woman who married Jí Indûr?”  
”Err... I don't know anythin' about her bein'... what, 'married'?”  
”It is said that she is a wraith in the guise of a beautiful woman,” Ker-Bandhir muttered. ”A wraith who devoured the king's soul on their wedding night, turning him into her like. The morning after, they found every single member of the royal family dead, their throats slit and their faces distorted with dread.”  
”Musta been one serious party,” Praktash commented. Ker-Bandhir could not keep from laughing at that.  
”There you go,” he said with a smile and placed the jar on the counter. ”Pay up.”  
Praktash grumbled a little over the price but placed the asked-for one hundred and twenty tokens in his hand. _'Zat and Graz better bloody appreciate this,_ he thought sullenly as he stuffed everything in his shoulder bag and walked away from the stand. _That price is absurd!_ As he passed one of the bakeries he decided to indulge a little and soon walked away with a still hot meat pie in his hand. _Bein' a Lug-snaga isn't so bad after all. I hope Záhovar takes over Thaurband after I've drilled my mace up Dachman's arse; then I'm gonna introduce her to these pies._

”Hi guys,” he chirped as he returned to the garrison.  
”Hey buddy,” Graznikh replied. ”Enjoyed the shopping?” He shared a table with Margzat, who had come over to discuss the impending journey. The krîtar nodded at Praktash and grinned.  
”Got bloody ripped off. Say, d'you know anythin' about a blown-up factory in Udûn?”  
”'S the talk o' the town,” Margzat rumbled. ”Apparently it took a few o' the armouries with it too.”  
”Skai,” Praktash said quietly. ”Wasn't sure whether to believe him or not. Did the breedin' pits make it?”  
”Yeah, they were too far away. Might have trouble outfittin' the new recruits for a while though.”  
”So we're gonna get a whole generation of top-notch brawlers then,” Graznikh chuckled. ”Might as well paint flowers on their chests'n instruct them to hold hands and sing happy songs when the war starts; see how the tarks like that one!”  
”Aw nar, you found out about the secret weapon!” Praktash exclaimed as he put his bag down. ”We've a full fâhurk outfitted for a song an' dance number, hidin' in the bowels 'neath Blog Shakâmb!” He started dancing back and forth with wiggling hips and ridiculous hand gestures. ”Potatur, bâlumbaltûk-ishi agh mauzur! Naut luzh zhaur lat naut, nauzalt bulumikh!”  
Margzat started shaking and collapsed against the table with a thud.  
Praktash stopped. ”Krîtar? You okay?” He took a closer look when Margzat did not reply; the big Uruk turned out to be laughing so hard that he couldn't even make sounds.  
”See?” he told Graznikh. ”It's real effective!”  
”Sure is,” Graznikh chuckled. Then he spotted Mikbork and Zosh scurrying in. ”There you are! I thought lord Záhovar told ya to stick close.”  
”Yeah, to you or him,” Mikbork said and pointed at Praktash.  
”Been stickin' close through the market,” Zosh added.  
”The fuck?” Praktash exclaimed. ”You've been tailin' me the whole time?”  
”Didn't say anything 'bout you havin' to _know_ I was close,” Zosh pointed out.  
”Wonderful,” Graznikh groaned. ”It's one of _those_.”  
”Got experience?” Margzat asked once he had stopped laughing.  
”Plenty! Ya gotta twist'n turn every order over in your head, make sure it's worded just right, 'cause otherwise they'll do it for ya and then they'll be all over the place in no time.”  
”Keeps ya sharp,” Zosh chirped and shot Praktash a grin as he began to snicker.

”Don't like it,” Margzat rumbled with a nod towards Zosh. ”Havin' a female runnin' loose like 'at.”  
Zosh bristled at that but Mikbork managed to put a hand over her mouth before she could start yelling. Graznikh gave him an appreciative nod before turning to the krîtar. ”Took ya this long to sniff her out?”  
Margzat shrugged. ”Didn't think much o' it on the road, what with the Officer nearby.”  
”What's your problem with women?” Praktash asked.  
”No problem,” Margzat replied. ”'S just not natural; they should stay in the pits. What?” he asked as Graznikh and Praktash snorted.  
”Záhovar,” Praktash pointed out.  
Margzat let out an insulted snort. ”'At's different! 'At's a High Officer!”  
”Still a woman,” Graznikh said.  
”Well, she's not distractin' the lads.”  
”So we should lock up all women just 'cause you can't control yourself 'round 'em?”  
” _Distracting?!”_ Zosh squealed in outrage after finally managing to push Mikbork away. ”Maybe we should lock up the 'lads' instead, seeing as they're so bloody unable to keep it in their pants at the first whiff o' plashnak!”  
”Can't do that,” Margzat chuckled, interrupting the snaga's furious yapping. ”There're no female Uruks to keep order if we do.”  
”Well I bet that if there were any, they'da already won the war long ago! And ripped yer cock off an' used it as a battering ram while they were at it!”  
Praktash slammed his fist into the table so hard that it nearly broke as he started laughing.  
”Fuck off Bukrazikh,” Margzat muttered with a half-hidden grin. ”My cock isn't that bloody fun.” Praktash was too busy laughing to answer, so he shot Zosh a sour glare instead. Graznikh hid a grin as she quickly rearranged her face from smug to innocent. _Old snaga stock, indeed.  
  
_ Ghakû and Kraash suddenly entered, seemingly oblivious to everyone else.  
”Ya don't think he'll suspect something when the gear's missing?”  
”Not a chance,” Kraash snickered. ”That thing's gonna fall apart the moment they try to move it an' the ol' krîtar's as good as... Fuck.” His face fell as he locked eyes with Margzat. The krîtar slowly rose and stretched to his full height, his head nearly hitting the low ceiling in the cavern. The snuffler and his mate were suddenly nowhere to be found.  
”What's this 'bout krîtar'n fallin' apart?” Margzat asked with a dangerous, excited expression. Graznikh suspected that he had been silently begging the Eye for something like this to happen. Kraash looked between him and Ghakû a few times, but the old Orc backed away with an innocent look and raised hands. Kraash eventually understood his predicament and tried to bolt, but the krîtar caught him by the hair and hoisted him into the air. Then he flipped him upside down, grabbed his ankles and started shaking him hard. A number of little trinkets fell off him, but no gear.  
”Hey Bukrazikh,” Margzat called with a happy grin. ”Care to gimme a hand?”  
”Just a hand?” Praktash asked breathlessly.  
”For now.”  
Kraash looked dazed but still had enough awareness to start waving his claws in the air as Praktash came close. ”Don'tcha fucking touch me!”  
”Can I touch you while fuckin' then?” Praktash snickered. Kraash could not answer before Margzat started shaking him again. When he stopped, Kraash was properly dazed and nearly unconscious. Praktash searched the pockets that were still closed and found a gear belonging to one of the wharf cranes.  
”I know who's in charge o' that part o' the docks,” Margzat rumbled as he dropped Kraash on a strawbag. ”I'll go return this. See ya later, Lug-snaga. An' you...” He grabbed Praktash's hair and pulled him close. Then he proceeded to kiss him until the Uruk redhead was crosseyed. Then he left. Praktash staggered back to the table looking almost as dazed as Kraash.  
”Wow,” he breathed before letting out a silly little giggle.  
”You okay, buddy?” Graznikh asked with a grin.  
”Yeah... Wow.”  
”Can see ya bluuushiiin'...”  
”Don't _say_ that!!” Praktash exclaimed and blushed even more. Then he violently pulled Graznikh over the table and into his lap and hugged him with a happy purr.

They had time for one last drink at the tavern before the boat left. Zosh carried the High Officer's luggage as the Orcs followed Záhovar down to the docks. The Sea of Nûrnen was craggy when they reached the ship where Ghakû and Kraash, who had recovered somewhat from his earlier Uruk incident, waited for them. Despite Graznikh's protests that they were even more unreliable than he was, Záhovar had refused to release them from her service and leave them behind.  
”Not unless you can find me two equally skilled soldiers without any further delay, then no,” she had replied and would hear no more of it. Graznikh had a bad feeling about the whole deal, but since he had no other fighters up his sleeve he was forced to cave in.  
Praktash tossed Ghakû a jar of lube.  
”There ya go! An Uruk always pays his debts.”  
”Usually with his fists,” Ghakû replied with a telling glance at Kraash.  
”He had that comin',” Praktash pointed out.  
”I'm glad he's this stupid,” Graznikh muttered. ”Imagine the bloody havoc he'd wreak if he had the brains to go along with all that mischief.”  
”What mischief?” Kraash asked.  
”Point taken,” Mikbork snickered.  
”What point?!”  
”Just drop it,” Graznikh growled and threw Záhovar a glance. So far she had ignored him for the most part, communicating only by giving him orders and answers to straight questions. Now she was watching the sea with an unreadable expression. He resisted the urge to try to talk to her, the bond was still completely dead and told him nothing. Instead he waited in silence until the uzhâk arrived and Záhovar gave the command to board.  
”Who're the new faces?” he asked Margzat after the krîtar had reported to Záhovar.  
”Drôturz, Gimtog'n Draumaturz,” Margzat replied, pointing the new Uruks out as they passed. ”Had to fill out the ranks since we lost a few down south. They're solid, good warriors all three.”  
Graznikh snorted. ”Draumaturz? Don't tell me that's his real name.”  
”Snaga name,” Margzat commented with a wicked leer. ”Never been outside the black cloud.”  
”And you picked _him_ for this mission? He's gonna be dead the moment we hafta fight during the day!”  
”Nar, he'll fight'n march with me behind him. They all do.”

  
This ship was different from the clumsy cargo ships they had travelled with earlier; instead of one large cabin there were several smaller ones, each furnished with two hammocks instead of beds. Margzat knew his Uruks and paired them up according to who could spend more than a toll together without starting a fight.  
”I'm gonna get sick from all this swinging,” Sulmurz grumbled as he tried to climb into his hammock without success. ”If I don't fall outta it and break my neck first.”  
”At least we're not sleeping on the floor,” Graznikh replied with a glance downwards; the crude iron grating that made up the floor was covered with rust and looked more than a bit unstable. Water could be seen sloshing about down in the keel.  
Sulmurz grunted in agreement. ”That's a lotta water... Hope we don't sink.”  
Graznikh bared his fangs in a mirthless grin while fighting down his fear of deep water. Staying down below deck helped somewhat, but being reminded of the fact that the only thing separating him and a slow, airless fall to certain death was a hand's breadth of wood did not. He could see Sulmurz sniff the air discreetly, but whatever he caught scent of he did not call Graznikh out on it.  
”Heard ya fell for someone the other night,” Graznikh said in an attempt to change the subject before Sulmurz could change his mind.  
Sulmurz tried to suppress his smug grin but ultimately failed. ”Ya could say that...”  
”How the fuck did you even manage?! Last I saw of ya that night, you were knocked out cold!”  
”Oh, I got ways,” Sulmurz purred with a leisurely stretch that was defeated a little as the hammock swung precariously and he grabbed the edges with a squeak.  
”You musta been bloody desperate,” Graznikh snickered after taking a swig from his booze skin. Praktash had kindly refilled it with some of the stuff they had had at the alehouse the other night, a clear liquid that burned all the way down and made even Graznikh's eyes water a little. The local fishermen called it 'rum' and claimed that it was popular among the seafaring corsairs, whom they had spoken of in almost reverent terms.  
”I wasn't desperate!” Sulmurz snarled, but accepted the offered skin without hesitation. He started coughing after the first mouthful. ”What the fuck _is_ this swill?!”  
”Spicy, eh? So how were you not desperate after all that tease'n denial shit she pulled on ya at every turn?”  
”Well, she was the one trying to fuck me after knocking me out.”  
” _She_ knocked you out?” Graznikh started laughing.  
”Oh, come _on!_ ” Sulmurz exclaimed. ”I slipped on some soapy spot on the floor and hit my head! Besides, she was all over me! Tried to slip me in before I was even awake for it!”  
”Hold on... She _rode_ ya?!”  
”Sure, if you call getting pounded into the mattress 'til the bed nearly broke 'riding',” Sulmurz growled, but now he was grinning as well. ” _I_ fucked _her_ so hard she was screamin' my name! Hear that? She bloody begged me for it!”  
”'S not that I don't believe ya,” Graznikh chuckled, ”but that doesn't sound like the Záhovar I know.”  
”...And she slapped me, told me to fuck her like I knew how to do it and bit my ear.”  
”Now that's more like it!”  
”She _bit_ my ear,” Sulmurz murmured with a lovesick grin. ”Clawed up my back real nice too. Didn't even know those flimsy little nails could do that...”  
”So what was the soap for?”  
”Huh?”  
”The soap,” Graznikh repeated with a grin. ”You said you slipped on it.”  
”Yeah, or something. Can't quite remember. We were at the bath-house, and-”  
”Aw, ya bloody romantic!” Graznikh purred. ”Tried to sweeten her up with candles and a backrub, did ya?”  
”Nar, I didn't! It was her idea! And we got loud, nasty an' slimy too, afterwards!”  
”Good for you! Now gimme that booze back.”

As Sulmurz did as told, he frowned and shot Graznikh an uneasy glance. ”So, err... did ya..?” He made a move with his hand as if pulling a string out of his head.  
Graznikh chuckled. ”Well, I didn't watch or hear the whole thing, if that's what ya mean. Felt a bit, but I was kinda busy at the moment so I didn't care to eavesdrop. Why?”  
Sulmurz grimaced a bit and opened and closed his mouth as if trying to say something but thinking better of it.  
”For the everloving fuck, just out with it! Quit dancin' 'round it like you've got fire ants up yer breeches!”  
”...So did she like it?”  
”Quit being a fucking snaga!! You were there, you sniffed, heard, saw it all! You don't need me to tell ya that she _liked_ it!”  
”All right, all right!” Sulmurz exclaimed. Then he grinned meekly. ”'S just... It's hard to believe, is all.”  
”Don't tell me you've never fucked before.”  
”Of course I've fucked before! Just... never like _that._ ”  
”Mmh, she sure is a special little lady.”  
”Yeah... Wait, ye're not pissed at her anymore?”  
”Nar, she fixed it the other night.”  
”'Fixed' it? Just like that? She couldn'ta done that earlier?”  
”Nar, she needed help.”  
”...From another Top One?”  
”Nar, some sorcerer from out East. The guy in charge o' the same cult what ran the temple down south; the priest there sent a message to him.”  
”Right... That's convenient.”  
Graznikh frowned. ”That's exactly what bugs me... Say, d'ya know anything 'bout Elves?”  
”Elves?” Sulmurz frowned. ”Nar, never even seen one. Why?”  
”Just wondering...” Graznikh couldn't shake off the feeling that there was something odd going on. _And I'd wager the Lion's in the middle of it all. Something happened during that ritual what made Praktash's eyes go all weird. And the Lion said 'eldar'... Or was it 'elder'? That sounds like Elvish. 'My Black Speech's not what it should be', my arse. Záhovar said his name was Elvish too, back in Khand._ He thought back on the conversations he had had with Whindaër. _She mentioned Noldor, Sindar, and... Something 'bout doors too. Door-ar? Nar, that's not right. Dorath, maybe. But Elves don't have dark skin, all I've seen were pale'n glowing. Lion does. Could he be an Elf-friend? But then why would he run a cult worshipping the Eye?_ Graznikh shook his head. _This shit's too bloody complicated!  
_ He looked up as Praktash appeared in the door.  
”Hey buddy!” the Uruk chirped. ”Hey, Sully...” he added with a sultry wink and chuckled as Sulmurz replied with a growl. ”Say, wanna join us in the common room? Dinner's served.”  
Graznikh and Sulmurz shared a look. ”Sure, we'll come.”

There was a slightly larger stash room near the prow that had been reserved for Akûl since the warg could not fit into the smaller cabins, and the Orcs had soon claimed it for socialising. From the looks of it, the journey would be as boring as the previous ones so everyone prepared for a few days' laziness.  
”Nar, ya won't,” Margzat said when he got a whiff of the mood. ”Since we didn't get time for equipment care back in Thaurband, ya might as well get it over with now. Go on, ya lazy maggots! If that shit isn't properly smeared come departure, your faces'll get smeared with somethin' altogether different! An' ya won't like it!”  
The mood immediately turned sour and a lot of hushed complaining and disgruntled muttering ensued, but the uzhâk obeyed their packleader. The Orcs were of a differing opinion.  
”I don't need that shit,” Kraash exclaimed as he laid back to doze. ”My gear's fine!”  
Sulmurz lifted Kraash's pole axe and shook it a little; the head wobbled dangerously. ”If you use this in a fight, there's half a chance it'll come off and hit one of _us_ in the face!”  
”Oh, fuck off! I'll slam it in place in the chest o' the next enemy we cross, it'll be fine!”  
Sulmurz groaned inside. He turned the axe upside down, placed his foot on the head and yanked it loose. ”There. Now ya can fix it properly!”  
”What the fuck's wrong with ya?!” Kraash roared and jumped to his feet. He charged Sulmurz and aimed a punch at his face, but Sulmurz ducked and returned the punch. Soon the two Orcs were bouncing off the walls in the cabin, fighting like rabid wargs.  
”That's right drartul!” Graznikh cheered. ”Give him a proper what-for!”  
”C'mon Sully, give it all ya got!” Praktash whooped. He snarled and tried to bite Margzat as the krîtar ruffled his red hair. Margzat responded by locking him in a chokehold and rubbing his knuckles into his scalp until Praktash was squeaking and gasping for breath. When the krîtar finally let him go, he happened to lock eyes with Draumaturz briefly. The sandy-haired, grey-eyed Uruk had been watching his goings-on with some interest and Praktash shot him a big grin and a wink. The other Uruk's upper lip curled into an odd grimace before he turned to watch the fight and Praktash frowned. _The fuck was that all about?  
_

Sulmurz eventually got the upper hand and felled Kraash with a well-aimed kick. Lîrnash, Urkhish and Grôturz won the bet and happily cashed in from Golnauk, who had been guarding the spoils.  
”What the fuck happened to make him so bloody stupid?!” Sulmurz muttered while snorting blood out of his nose.  
”I heard he's from up north o' where I spawned,” Graznikh said. ”The folks there're all bloody crazy. The Elves keep killing 'em off so there's too much breeding between littermates going on.”  
”...That explains everything. Hey, Ghakû!”  
”Yeah, yeah, I got it. Drugdealer, got time to work?”  
”All work an' no play,” Praktash replied and grabbed Kraash's legs. As he carried him aside to treat his wounds, he threw a glance at Draumaturz and saw him quickly look away and pretend like nothing had happened. _What's wrong with that one?_  
Margzat soon had everyone working hard at removing dents and rust, replacing rivets and oiling the leather with a stinking but efficient grease made from rock pitch and badger fat.  
”Gotta use the little bastards for somethin',” he explained when Graznikh asked him about it. Zosh joined them once she had finished her duties.  
”Officer's green,” she reported to Graznikh.  
Graznikh gave her a confused glare. ”Green?”  
”Uh-huh. Bucket'n blargh.”  
”...Right. I'll go check on her later.”  
He nodded her off and she bounced over to Mikbork, remaining glued to his side for the remainder of the day.  
After two tolls, Margzat decided that they had done enough for now.  
”Gotta save some for tomorrow,” he grinned. Several of the longtimers in the uzhâk joined in when Sulmurz opened up spots for a round of gambling; the newcomers watched with bewildered expressions as Uruks and snaga merrily fraternised. Graznikh joined in at first, but dropped out after a few rounds with the excuse that he had to go check on his master.

Záhovar had her own suite near the stern of the ship. There was no reply at first when Graznikh tapped his claws against the door, but after a while he thought he heard a quiet ”yes?” and entered. The suite was fully furnished with tables, chairs and a large bed, all securely fastened to the floor. None of it was much use to Záhovar, however; she was hanging over the edge of the bed, supported by the net that was there to keep the sleeper from falling out of the bed in case of rough seas, with her head over a bucket that stood on the floor. Graznikh had to suppress a grin as he sauntered over to her. Záhovar gave him a weak look and doubled over the bucket again; Graznikh grabbed her by the braid to help support her as she threw up. _Where'd she learn to braid her hair?  
_ ”Each and every time I set foot upon dry land,” she said weakly and spat, ”I swear to myself never to travel by ship again. And each and every time, I am forced to break that oath. What have I done to deserve this?”  
”Maybe the Eye thinks you look good in green?” She gave him a weak smile at that and Graznikh chuckled. ”Where's the ghâshpau?”  
”I do not know. Somewhere in the pack; Zosh keeps misplacing all my belongings when I need them the most.”  
”Want me to do some disciplining? That'll jog her memory for sure.”  
”If you wish... Though you may have to chase her down first. She has an uncanny skill for sensing the intentions of her superiors.”  
”Wouldn't expect anything less from that one,” Graznikh snickered. He dug around in the High Officer's luggage and eventually found the ghâshpau flask. Záhovar gave him an unusually warm look as he filled a mug and held it to her lips. The first mouthful came back up, but the second stayed down. After emptying the cup she felt much better and sat up.  
”Feeling better?” Graznikh asked.  
”Yes, thank you.”  
”Just doing my job.”  
Záhovar looked at him. ”And what of you? Any inexplicable bouts of anger, now that you are near me?”  
”Not a bit,” Graznikh replied as he squatted beside the bed and rested his back on the edge. ”Feeling better'n ever. I think ya broke whatever it was.” He frowned a little as Záhovar shook her head.  
”Do not make the mistake of believing that. The spell is not permanent. The anger will return, little by little, and I cannot say for sure when that will begin to happen. You must remain vigilant of any changes in that direction and let me know of any suspicions.”  
”Will do.” He met her gaze. ”So... wanna start over?”  
The corners of her mouth curved ever so slightly upwards. ”Are we not already?”  
”Guess we are... âmbal.”

  
Before going to bed, Praktash decided to take a stroll on deck. Despite the Sun being high in the sky, he found that he enjoyed the warmth as long as he was protected from its rays by his leather cloak. As he closed in on the stairs he found Draumaturz sitting on the lowest step, staring at the clear sky above with wide eyes. He did not seem to have heard him and Praktash took the opportunity to take a closer look.  
Draumaturz' hair was the colour of desert sand with hints of grey here and there. It spilled down his back in matted tresses with the ones near his temples held together by a black strip of linen in a low ponytail. His skin was a slightly lighter shade of grey than Praktash's own and his eyes were a dark steel grey with a lighter ring of silver around the outer iris. The dark area surrounding them was unusually light, barely darker than the irises themselves. His face was not as bulky as the other Uruks', his jaw slightly narrower but still powerful and his nose vaguely similar to Praktash's. His stature was a bit on the smaller side but not as small as Praktash; he wore the same kind of armour as the other grunts and carried a sword and shield similar to Margzat's, but of much smaller size. Apart from his unusual eye colour, what really made him stand out was the elaborate scar tattoos in his face. They consisted of a number of raised dots and lines and covered his forehead, temples and cheeks, topped by the symbol of the Great Eye carved into his forehead where the muscular ridges of his eyebrows met. There were a few of them on his arms and legs as well, and Praktash could not help but wonder if he had them elsewhere too. _All put together, he's kinda good-lookin'... Wonder why he's sittin' out here all alone?  
_ ”Hey!” Draumaturz jumped and let out a surprised growl as Praktash spoke.  
”Easy there,” Praktash said quietly as he approached. ”Guess I gotta make more noise when I walk.” Draumaturz grunted in reply. He eyed Praktash warily as he sat down on the other side of the bottom stair.  
Praktash looked up at the sky. The Sun was setting in the west and the sky was stained in the vibrant colours of the Mountain. ”Nice evenin'.”  
”Hnh...” Draumaturz grunted but seemed unable to tear his eyes off the sky.  
_Not very talkative..._ ”So which bootcamp're you from?”  
”Nog.”  
”Same here.” Draumaturz shot him an incredulous glance and Praktash chuckled. ”Yeah, I could give you the same look. You don't really look cut out for the shock troops yourself.”  
”You don't know fuck-all about me,” Draumaturz snarled.  
Praktash shrugged. ”You're right about that.” They sat in silence for a while and watched the grey clouds above. ”So why're you out here?”  
Draumaturz snorted quietly. ”If I'm gonna get jumped, I'd rather not get the whole pack on me.”  
”Why, they don't like ya?” Praktash realised his mistake and bit his tongue, but it was too late.  
”'Course they wouldn't treat a pretty little Lug-snaga like that,” Draumaturz sneered with a nod towards Praktash's collar. ”Officer's favourite, are ya?”  
”Far from it,” Praktash snickered. ”An' you don't think I got a rough deal? I got on the krîtar's bad side right from the start. Or... good, depends on how ya see things. It was rough, anyway.”  
”I'll believe that when I see it.”  
”Are you actually askin' me to pick a fight with him all over again just to prove to you that I'm not lyin'? Take it or leave it, I don't care.” From the corner of his eye, Praktash saw Draumaturz glance at him with a bewildered frown. _Nar, I'm not gonna pull rank on ya. I'm not part of your stupid pack, so I've got no reason to.  
_  
They watched the sky in silence for a while.  
Draumaturz's eyes suddenly grew wide. ”What the fuck is that?!”  
Praktash frowned. ”What?”  
”That!” He pointed at the sky.  
No matter how Praktash looked, he could see nothing but a fluffy little cloud. ”What, behind the cloud?”  
”What's a cloud?”  
Praktash gave him a blank look. ”You're not serious.”  
”Yeah, why?”  
Praktash bit his lip. _Don't laugh. Do_ not _laugh, you son of a-_ ”It's a _cloud._ Y'know, like the one over Lugburz but smaller.”  
”There are _white_ ones?!”  
”Yeah, an' grey. Those piss too, but it's just water, not real piss.”  
”What do they eat?”  
Praktash had to turn away. His shoulders were shaking with the strain of keeping the laughter in and he tried to dig his blunt claws into his thigh to distract himself, but to no avail; it kept bubbling up from inside anyway.  
Draumaturz began to growl. ”So you know everything, ya smug fuck! Piss off.”  
”I didn't...” Praktash gasped and struggled to regain control. ”Clouds don't eat, they're just puffs of smoke! They're just up there an' look fluffy. Blocks out the Sun too, if there're enough of them.”  
”...Right.”  
At that point, there were shouting from the sailors above.  
”Sounds like we're closin' in on Nurngost,” Praktash said.  
”Don't get why we didn't just march,” Draumaturz muttered. ”'S not that far.”  
”Are you bloody jokin'? The nearest bridge's up by Daemon Gap! _And_ it's uphill most of the way. This trip takes three nights by boat; we'd be marchin' for two _weeks_ to reach Ruzh Moraut by foot! And we'd be trailin' the edge of the Desolation for most of the way.”  
”Afraid o' sweat, are ya?” Draumaturz gave him a mocking grin.  
”Sweat? Nar, but the shutterblies thought I was bloody dinner last time I passed there.”  
”The what?”  
”Giant, bloodsuckin' pests. I don't mind a good suck now an' then, but that shit right there's a dealbreaker!”  
Draumaturz chuckled at that, and this time there was no mockery in his eyes, only good-natured teasing. ”No wonder you didn't make it.”  
”The fuck's that supposed to mean?” Praktash asked with a grin.  
”Seein' as you're collared an' all, I'm guessing you didn't make it in the troops.”  
Praktash shrugged. ”Maybe I would. I just happened to have other talents.”  
”Like sucking?”  
”What _did_ they tell you, I wonder?”  
Draumaturz tried to look inconspicuous. ”Just heard some... 'Bout you'n the krîtar.”  
”Oh, _that!_ Yeah, I might've... done some suckin' there.” He frowned a little as Draumaturz bared his fangs. _There it is again. Is this guy like Sully, or does he fancy me? I can't tell._ ”But that's not all. Someone's gotta piece ya back together after the tarks've been at ya; that's my task.”  
”So... you're a fleshknitter?”  
”Fleshknitter, drugdealer, general keeper-of-ills-at-bay... I got many titles.”  
”An' Lug-snaga.”  
”I'm the best there is.” Praktash winked and Draumaturz snapped his fangs in reply. _Well, that answers that I guess. He fancies me!_ Then Draumaturz glanced to the side and his grin was immediately replaced by apprehension.  
  
”Thought ya were goin' to sleep,” Margzat rumbled as he came up to them. He wore no armour now, only his leather shirt and loincloth.  
”Yeah, just thought I'd get some air first,” Praktash replied. ”I'm not all that fond of rock-pitch an' rotted water.”  
”Freash air, huh?” Margzat glanded at Draumaturz, who was trying to excuse himself. ”You'll stay.” Draumaturz sank back down with a tense look.  
”C'mon 'Zat,” Praktash said with a disarming grin as he stood. ”Don't be like that. We were just talkin'!”  
Margzat's eyes narrowed a little. Then he grabbed Praktash's shirt and marched him back to their cabin without a word.  
”'Zat? What the fuck?!”  
”If ye're gonna fuck around with the whole uzhâk, why don'tcha just say so an' we'll do ya all at once?” Margzat asked with uncharacteristic heat once the door slammed shut behind them.  
”What?! Whaddya want, 'Zat?”  
”'At's the question, isn't it?” Margzat growled. ”Better to ask what _you_ want. Whaddya want, Bukrazikh?”  
Praktash frowned. ”Hold on... Are you _jealous_?”  
”Nar, I'm pissed! Graznikh, me, that little snaga who keeps suckin' up to the Officer, now this new guy. Whaddya want, Bukrazikh? D'ya even know?”  
Praktash stared at him for a moment. Then he grinned. ”What if I want it all? 'Sides, I'm not messin' with Sully anymore. It's over between us.”  
”'At's not what I meant an' ya know it! I don't like havin' folks walk behind my back the way ya do!”  
”I'm not gonna ask for your permission to fuck others! Nor should you; if you find someone else, then go for it! I don't mind.”  
”Why the fuck would I go for another who'd only manage it one way?”  
”Good point,” Praktash commented. The possessiveness in Margzat's eyes began to frighten him a little. ”But... I can't be all yours, 'Zat, you know that! ...Don'tcha?”  
”Aye...” Margzat muttered as he backed away and began to climb into his hammock. ”'S all _him_ first, right?”  
”Nar,” Praktash replied, grasping at straws to wiggle out of the impending chains of commitment. ”It's _her._ ”  
Margzat looked up with an incredulous scowl. ”'Her'? 'Her' who?”  
”Lord Záhovar.” Praktash almost started laughing at Margzat's face but managed to hold back. The krîtar's face was a study in disbelief, horror, disgust, relief and wonder all at once, and seemed unable to decide which feeling should overrule the others. ”Ye're fuckin' an _Officer?_ ” he eventually managed to squeak.  
”What, who did _you_ think it was? C'mon, you must've had someone in mind.”  
Margzat looked embarrassed and motioned at something that reached to about his knee. ”All 'at talk 'bout ya'n snagas... Y'know...”  
”What, you thought me an' _Zosh_..?” Now Praktash _did_ laugh. The thought was so ridiculous that he was soon gasping for air, and Margzat's grumpy expression did not help. Eventually the krîtar could not resist chuckling a little as well, no matter how he tried to stay angry.  
”Look,” Praktash said. ”I didn't mean to walk out on ya like this. I've just had a lot on my mind, but... What?” he asked when he noticed Margzat's absent look. ”'Zat?”  
  
When the krîtar did not reply, Praktash slowly reached forward and poked his noke. Margzat let out a startled grunt and glared at him. ”What?!”  
”Where were you just now?” Praktash asked with a big grin. ”Imaginin' things, were ya?”  
”Was just thinkin'...”  
”Sure you were,” Praktash purred. ”Thinkin' o' me an' her, weren'tcha?”  
Margzat leaned back into the hammock. ”...Maybe. So ye're really fuckin' an Officer?”  
”Two of 'em. You're one too.”  
”Not a High one.”  
”Nar, but still. Anyway, she mostly prefers my...” Praktash held up two fingers and flicked his tongue inbetween.  
Margzat grinned a little. ”Haven't smelled any plashnak on ya. Ever.”  
”Nar, t'was a while since last. Too much stuff goin' on with the mission, an' she's been busy with Sully.”  
”...She fucks him too?”  
”Yup. An' Graz, though they had a bit of a fallin' out with all the sorcery shit.”  
Margzat seemed to silently count something and winced a little. ”So... she fucks _all_ her Lug-snaga?”  
”Sully's not Lug-snaga, but yeah, I guess. Me an' Graz're the only ones she's got, as of yet.”  
Now the krîtar looked thoroughly uneasy. ”...Right. 'At's... right.”  
”'Zat, what the fuck is _wrong_ with ya? I've never seen ya like this before!”  
”She offered me a spot as Lug-snaga,” Margzat murmured. ”If I'd bloody known, I'd...” He fell quiet as he met Praktash's wide-eyed stare.  
”She what? She... 'Zat, you serious?” Praktash's face cracked up in a wide, happy grin.  
”Praktash, I can't do that!” Margzat snapped. Praktash blinked; the fact that Margzat had used his real name and forgotten to add the near compulsory ”I'm thinkin'” showed that the krîtar was near breaking point. ”The last plashnak I rammed in the breedin' pits, she up an' split on me! I bloody near killed her!” Margzat scowled. ”I can't have an Officer's blood on my hands like 'at; they'd bloody tear me apart for it!”  
”'Zat,” Praktash said and grabbed his head to force him to look at him. ”Záhovar won't do that. If she wanted to fuck ya, she woulda tried to hook an' haul ya in by now. Y'know how she's been with Sully the whole trip, don'tcha?”  
”I'm thinkin' I don't,” Margzat said weakly.  
”...Right. At any rate, I don't think you need to worry. Between Graz an' Sully, she's got all the cock she could want for. An' between Graz an' me, all the tongue.”  
”Lug-Durbatari got a proper good chunk cut out for 'em, don't they?”  
”They sure do... But I don't mind, so long as she shares.”  
”An' does she?”  
”Oh, she does.” A hungry grin slowly spread on Praktash's face. ”You should see our bed! An' the bath, an'... An' the food! You think that stuff we got in the outpost was fine? Pfft. That'll taste like ash when you've had a bite of what the Top Ones dine on.”  
  
Margzat grinned a little. ”I'm never gonna cook again, am I?”  
Praktash chuckled. ”Are you jokin'? Go flutter those pretty long eyelashes o' yours at her an' she'll have the nudrokatur bash out a wall an' build a new kitchen all for you. You saw the fancy shop I had back when we first met, didn'tcha?”  
”What the fuck did ya just call me?!”  
”Eep!” Praktash squeaked as Margzat grabbed his hair and pulled him close.  
”Callin' me 'pretty', are ya Bukrazikh?”  
Praktash tried to articulate a coherent reply, but the Kritar's claw tracing his ear made it hard to focus. ”Well... It's... I'm... Um... Jokin'?”  
”Better hope ya do,” Margzat chuckled darkly and tousled his hair.  
”Will ya stop doin' that?!”  
”Why?”  
”'Cause I'll bite ya if you don't!” Praktash growled hotly.  
”Oh yeah? Dare ya to.” The krîtar's big hand still rested on the back of his neck and Praktash knew that it would catch his hair the moment he tried anything serious, but he simply couldn't resist. A deep growl reverberated through his chest as he slowly climbed into the hammock. Margzat's eyes grew hazy with need at first, but then they widened as the hammock let out a protesting groan. ”...Fuck!!”  
The rope holding the hammock up snapped and they hit the floor with a yelp. The rusty grating gave in under Margzat's weight and both Uruks howled as they fell into the dark, waterfilled keel. They kept howling and roaring for help, desperately thrashing and clawing their way up to the surface.  
”What the everloving fuck is going on in here?!” came Graznikh's voice from above, moments before his red eyes peered into the hole.  
”Graz!!” Praktash gurgled. ”Get us up, we can't swim!”  
Graznikh stared at them for a moment, then he exploded with laughter and disappeared. Ghrazagh did the same, as well as a few of the other Uruks.  
”Graz, you fuckin' bastard!!” Praktash roared. Then he frowned. _Wait... What?_ He looked down and groaned. Then he shared a look with Margzat, who looked as sheepish as he felt; they had been fighting for their lives in water that was less than knee-deep. Margzat began to laugh as well.

  
Once the general mirth had died down a little, they still had to find a rope to get Praktash and Margzat out of the keel; the algae-covered wood was too slippery to stand on so there was no way they could climb up on their own. The slimy, foulsmelling mixture of stagnant water, rock-pitch and rotting algae covered them both from top to toe and Graznikh forced the two snickering Uruks up on deck with unusual assertiveness before they could mess the place up more than they already had. Luckily, night had already fallen so the deck was clear of Mannish sailors who would otherwise no doubt be traumatised by shameless Uruk nudity.  
”I'm thinkin' I'll never hear the end o' this,” Margzat chuckled as he threw a bucket of briny water at Praktash.  
”Look on the dark side; it might block out the Trench jokes for a while,” Praktash giggled as he returned the favour and scrubbed him with a broomstick.  
”How did ya even manage?” Graznikh asked from where he perched on top of a pile of hawsers. ”I can get the hammock breaking, but the _floor_?”  
Praktash pointed at Margzat. ”Half-troll. Heavy bones an' all that.” Then he whooped as Margzat shoved him down with a wicked grin and began to scrub him in turn. ”Nar! Stop, tickles!!”  
”This is getting nowhere,” Graznikh muttered with a sigh. Then he grabbed another broomstick. ”Might as well give you two a hand!” He shot Margzat an evil leer as he joined the krîtar in holding Praktash down on the deck and scrubbing him until he was squealing and frantically struggling to get away.  
After a while they stopped. Margzat poked the shaking drugdealer with his broomstick.  
”Think he's clean now?”  
”Sure looks like it,” Graznikh replied. ”Might be a little twitchy though.”  
”I hate you,” Praktash snarled as he got to his feet. ”Both of you! You're nasty an' cruel!”  
”C'mon Bukrazikh,” Margzat chuckled. ”Least ye're clean now. I'm thinkin' 'at's a good thing.”  
”I don't give a shit what you're thinkin'! Don't touch me!” Praktash batted Margzat's hand off and let out a vicious growl that neither Graznikh nor Margzat cared about. Margzat caught him from behind and began to nibble his ear.  
”You're a little too late for that,” Praktash snarled at him. ”First you torture me an' now you think you can get away with bein' cute? Let. Me. Go!”  
”Am I too late too?” Graznikh asked with a teasing leer as he stepped up in front of him and ran a claw up his thigh.  
Praktash gave him a scandalised look. ”You're not gonna help him!”  
”What if I am?”  
Praktash's eyes grew round as both his ears were assaulted. ”Buh..? Buh..! Buddyyy! Th-this isn't fair!” He groaned as Graznikh nipped his neck hard enough to leave a welt. Clawed hands ran along his back and abdomen, the scents of two bodies mingled in his nostrils and Praktash decided to give up and simply enjoy as both his favourite fucks pawed him.  
Graznikh withdrew after a while and Praktash opened his eyes. ”Why d'you stop?”  
”Sorry buddy, I got to tend to our master.”  
”Can'tcha tend to this before you go?” Praktash purred and tugged his cock with a leer. Graznikh gave him an appreciative look, but nodded towards Margzat.  
”I'mma give him some too,” Praktash replied with a hungry glance at the krîtar. ”Was hopin' I'd get ya both.”  
Margzat laughed out loud at that. ”Ye're the horniest little bastard I ever met, Bukrazikh!”  
”Sure is,” Graznikh chuckled. ”Sorry, buddy. You know I'm not one for group sports. Not out in the open, at least.”  
”Fine!” Praktash exclaimed. ”But you can't run forever! I'm gonna get ya, one sweet night.”

”Since ye're so bloody eager, how 'bout ya get some,” Margzat purred in his ear after Graznikh had left.  
”How?” Praktash asked and shuddered as he retied his wet loincloth. ”Our cabin's wrecked.”  
”I'm thinkin' I've a solution to that. C'mon!” Margzat grabbed Praktashs arm and dragged him back down below deck, where he marched straight for the common room.  
”'Zat? You're not plannin' on fuckin' me in the middle of the pack, are ya? 'Zat!” He tried to resist, but Margzat was to strong. The krîtar only shot him an eager, 'come-hither' leer as he shouldered the door open. The common room was full of people; the pack instinct had clearly made the Uruks uncomfortable with being split up, so most of them had moved their bedrolls there and huddled up in a corner. The rest were still engaged in a game of dice with Sulmurz and Kraash. All looked up as their near-naked krîtar stomped in and stopped just inside the door with a slightly flushed Praktash in one fist, towering over them all.  
Margzat took a deep breath. ”GET OOOUT!!!”  
A few blinks of an eye later, the room was empty. Praktash grunted as Margzat shoved him down onto the bedrolls.  
”That was efficient,” he chuckled nervously. Margzat's only reply was a sound halfway between a purr and a growl and as Praktash looked up at him, he realised that the huge Uruk had grown a little _too_ excited; his eyes were completely black because of his widened pupils and he wore a feral leer as he slowly prowled towards him. Praktash felt his knees give out even though he was already sitting down. ”...Oh fuck.”  
”Fuck's exactly what ye're gonna get,” Margzat growled. ”I'm gon' fuck ya like you've never been fucked before. I'll put the fear o' the Dark Lord in ya, just you wait...”

  
Then he pounced, and Praktash's last sound was a terrified little ”meep!”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Potatur - Come to me  
> Bâlumbaltûk-ishi agh mauzur - In all your glamour and cruelty  
> Naut luzh zhaur lat naut agh - Just do that thing that you do and  
> Nauzalt bulumikh - I'll undress you 
> 
> Not a literal translation, but the general meaning is the same. Yes, Praktash is singing ”Artpop” by Lady Gaga in Black Speech. Sue me.
> 
> Draumaturz – this name makes no sense in Black Speech. It's made up of ”drau” (light), ”mât” (to kill) and ”-urz” (a suffix similar to '-ish' in English (OrcISH, greenISH). The one giving the name probably meant for it to be something awesome like 'Killing The Light', but mangled the language and turned it into utter nonsense.


	2. A Display Of Power

”Oh, fuck fuck _fuuuck!_ 'Zat, go easy on me!”  
”Easy, hmm? Too big for ya, am I?”  
”Nearly... Oh!!”  
”This easy enough for ya?” Margzat growled and Praktash purred into the bedroll as the giant slowed down, filling him up to the point where it hurt before retreating. Sharp claws dug into his hip, the other hand fondled his cock and Margzat's teeth caught the skin at the nape of his neck and bit down hard. The pain, pleasure and intense stretching sensation suddenly overwhelmed him; the tension exploded and Praktash came with a muffled roar. Margzat was not far behind and Praktash groaned as his final thrust threatened to dislocate his hips. _At least he's not fallin' on top of me when he's done._ They lay still for a while, catching their breaths.  
  
”Why're you always toppin'?” Praktash asked.  
”'Cause ye're a good bottom,” Margzat replied with a lazy grin. ”An' I was thinkin' ya had enough o' toppin' with yer buddy.”  
 _Right... forgot about that little ruse._ ”Yeah, but... still.” He shot him a grin. ”I wanna try toppin' a krîtar too.”  
Margzat laughed. ”Maybe ya will, at that. Once I get bored with yer sweet arse.”  
”Pfft! If that ever happens, I'll just do some tricks what'll make that interest shoot right back up.”  
”Oh..? Like what?”  
”Wouldn't be much of a surprise if I told ya all about it, would it?” Praktash murmured with a secretive smile. Margzat chuckled darkly as he nuzzled his pierced ear.  
”Makatok... Be an Uruk, then we'll talk.”  
Praktash had begun to purr as the krîtar's warm nose caressed him but now he frowned. ”That's your deal?” He gave Margzat a guarded look. ”We've been through this already; y'know I don't wanna be chained down like that.”  
”No one's talkin' 'bout chainin' ya down, Bukrazikh,” Margzat replied quietly. ”I'm thinkin' I wouldn't like seein' ya like that either.”  
”So why push it? 'Sides, it's not like I can be one o' the pack just like that.”  
”Why not?”  
Praktash pointed at himself. ”With this face?”  
”So ya look a li'l funny. Who cares? You've seen Ghrazagh an' his fuckin' braids, haven't ya? Garmadh's face wasn't much to cheer for either, an' whaddya say 'bout this?” He pointed at the thick, black eyelashes that framed his dark red eyes, so long that they brushed his heavy brow whenever his eyes widened. ”Gotta trim 'em again; they keep gettin' in my eyes. Makes it hard to see.” He gave Praktash a grin that made the Uruk redhead blush and look away. ”So ya might hafta live with 'sweetface'. 'At doesn't make ya any less an Uruk, if ya wanna be one. Don't like it? Fix it.”  
”Are you tellin' me to mess my face up just 'cause some grunts can't shut up about it?”  
”Nar, I'm tellin' ya to mess _them_ up if they're botherin' ya.”  
”So I'm to pick a fight with every single member of the pack? They all call me that!”  
”Why not? Ye're a better fighter than any of 'em. Ya beat me, remember?”  
Praktash gave him an incredulous look. ”You have a bloody funny way of thinkin' if _that's_ your idea of a defeat!”  
”Not in the first tumble maybe, but ya floored me pretty good later on,” Margzat purred and gave him one of _those_ looks that made Praktash hide his face in the blanket.  
”You really need to trim those eyelashes,” Praktash growled. ”They make ya look bloody creepy!” Then he felt Margzat sniff his neck audibly, saying without words that he could smell the lie from the other side of Gorgoroth.   
”Sure I do. An' ya need to relax a li'l 'round the others. They're not gonna jump ya for talkin' to 'em.”  
”I _am_ talkin' to them. 'Sides, seein' as ya freaked out from watchin' me talk to another guy just now, you might forgive me for bein' a little wary of others. Might almost think that you're jealous or somethin'.”  
”Watch it,” Margzat snapped.  
Praktash grinned teasingly at him. ”You _are_ jealous!”  
Margzat grabbed his hair with a growl. ” _Watch_ it.”  
Praktash opened his mouth to continue teasing, but the tinge of danger in the krîtar's voice and calm, assertive eyes made his voice fail in his throat.  
”Fine,” Margzat said after a while. ”Do what ya want. I'll try to shut the others down.”  
Praktash frowned. ”Shut _who_ down?”  
”Those who want ya in the pack. Nar, it's not just Mûrna an' it's not for those reasons.”  
”If they're so bloody eager about it they can come talk to me themselves. I don't care how much you agree with them, I'm not gonna have ya run their errands for 'em.”  
Margzat stared at him in surprise for a moment. Then he grinned. ”'S 'at so? Thought ya didn't wanna challenge 'em.”  
”'Zat, what _is_ this about? Just out with it, You don't need to play games with me.”  
”Arright,” Margzat murmured with a sigh and leaned his cheek against Praktash's. ”I'm thinkin' I was gonna try to drag some o' the others along with me when I get collared. Bein' surrounded by snaga might be enough for ya, but not for me. Us Uruks need a pack.”  
”A pack I never had...” Praktash muttered and felt Margzat nod.  
”Some time's gotta be the first. I'm thinkin' they might not be very eager 'bout it though. Sure, pay's better'n all, but it's no regular Uruk life. Me alone won't convince 'em. But two..?”  
Praktash frowned. ”I don't like toyin' with the pack instinct like that. Can't you just tell 'em to do it?”  
Margzat chuckled. ”Think the Officer'd take 'em if she knew I did that?”  
”...Nar, she wouldn't. I'll think about it.”  
”Ya do that.” Margzat buried his face in Praktash's hair and he could feel the big Uruk's ribcage vibrate against his back as he let out a purring sigh. Now that they were quiet, the others sneaked in one by one to reclaim their bedrolls. Soon the little room was filled with the sounds of sleeping Uruks.

  
Graznikh returned to Záhovar's suite; Sulmurz was nowhere to be found and he was not in the mood to spend time with the others. He had not seen Mikbork and Zosh either; the two little Orcs had probably found some quiet corner where they were out of reach of bored larger Orcs. But as he opened the door, he both found Sulmurz and came upon a sight that hit him right in the heart; Záhovar was sitting on the cushioned bench in front of the large window with Sulmurz behind her. He was combing her long hair with his claws. And Graznikh saw red.  
”What the fuck d'ya think you're doing?!” He snarled at Sulmurz as he stomped closer.  
Sulmurz gave him a confused, wary look. ”I'm... combing?”  
”Well, that's my thing to do!” Graznikh growled and pushed him away. ”Back off!”  
”Have ya gone bloody crazy?!” Sulmurz roared. ”I've been doin' this for ages, this is my task!”  
”Oh yeah? Got anything like this?” Graznikh shoved the comb up under Sulmurz's nose and Sulmurz almost went cross-eyed as he tried to look at it. ”I got the comb; _I_ do the combing!”  
”I don't need a stupid comb, I got these!” Sulmurz growled back and held his claws up.  
Graznikh slapped his hands away. ”She deserves better than your dirty paws!”  
Sulmurz let out a wordless roar, but before the fight was on, Záhovar spoke. ”Stop it.” Sulmurz immediately backed down but Graznikh did not. He shoved him hard against the wall with a furious snarl. Záhovar glared at him and he gasped and fell to his knees as the collar around his neck turned ice cold.  
”Are you done?” she asked in an icy tone. Graznikh gave her a meek look and nodded. ”Good. Graznikh, you will comb.” Sulmurz's face fell and Graznikh shot him a smug 'what did I tell you'-smirk. ”Sulmurz, you will braid.” Graznikh's smirk faded and Sulmurz lit up. ”Is that an acceptable compromise for you both?”  
”Yeah, sure,” Sulmurz replied, nodding vigorously.  
 _Bloody snaga..._ Graznikh thought, blood still boiling. ”Yes master.” Záhovar kept looking at him and it took a moment for him to figure out what she wanted. ”...Comb, Right.”  
Her eyes followed him as he took up position behind her and he needed no bond to know that she was displeased with him. ”The next time, you will speak your mind before you start fighting.”  
”Yes, master.” He refrained from glaring at Sulmurz as the other Orc crouched on the bench in front of Záhovar and focused instead on the task at hand. The comb slid through her hair; as it snagged on a tangle, he carefully picked it out with his claws before continuing.   
  
Now that he could think straight again, he felt like an idiot. He did not even know _why_ he had reacted the way he had done. The moment he had spotted Sulmurz doing _his t_ ask with _his_ woman, he had been overwhelmed with _MINE_ and gone straight for his throat. He had not reacted like that since...  
Graznikh sneered a little. It was like being back in the band, he realised, quarreling over some petty spoils. For a moment he wished that he was back there, where life was simple and selfish. _I just wanted to fool around a little. Never asked for all this shit...  
_ ”You will repeat this every morning, or at whatever time I wake up,” Záhovar said when he was done.  
”Yes master,” Graznikh murmured. Then he cocked his hair. ”It's getting a bit long.”  
”So?” Sulmurz grunted as he took up position behind Záhovar and began to divide her hair.  
”Well, if it grows too long, it'll get stuck on stuff. Or an enemy might catch it and throw her off balance in a fight.”>  
”And what do you suggest?” Záhovar asked. ”That I let you cut it all off?”  
”Nar! Not _all_ o' it. But bloody knee-length's a bit much, 's all I'm saying.”  
”Fuck off,” Sulmurz muttered. ”Who'd be that bloody stupid? Ladies should've long hair, 's not an issue.”  
”All the more reason to trim, then,” Záhovar said. ”I am not a 'lady'.” She gave Graznikh a curt nod and motioned for Sulmurz to back away. He did so with a disappointed scowl. Graznikh grabbed the silky tresses and drew his knife, then began to cut them off at tailbone length. The resulting trim was crude and uneven, but he liked it. He carefully tied and folded the cut-off hair and pocketed it.  
”Ya gonna keep all that to yerself?” Sulmurz asked sourly.  
”I've got plans. Quit being a snaga, you'll get some too when I'm done.”  
Sulmurz returned to his braiding task without further complaint. Graznikh made for the door but stopped when he heard Záhovar's voice.  
”You have my permission to sleep here in case the cabin is not to your liking.”  
He turned to stare at her and could not help but throw the fancy bed a look. _Is she seriously asking me to..?_  
”No,” Záhovar said and pointed at the cupboard built into the wall in a corner. ”There.”  
Graznikh frowned as he walked towards it. _She expects me to sleep in a fucking box?_ But as he opened the doors, they revealed a low alcove bed with room enough for two. He gave her a lopsided grin.  
”Sure, I'll go get my stuff. Gotta find the snaga too, they're off to some mischief. Be back later.”  
  
Záhovar nodded and gave him leave to go. Graznikh steered clear of the common room and searched every cargo cabin, nook and cranny of the ship, but Mikbork and Zosh were nowhere to be seen. Graznikh began to wonder if they had somehow managed to leave the ship altogether, but then he remembered that there was one place he had not yet searched. On the way up on deck, he caught a familiar whiff from the wall and stopped. One of the planks turned out to be loose and inside was a full bottle of rum. It did not smell spiked, so he nicked it and made for deck with a happy grin. _Finally some bloody luck!  
_ Soon he found himself back on deck. After a bit of restless pacing, he settled down near the prow and glared at the dark sea while gulping down the burning booze and snorting at the scent of brine and crude oil from the harbour. A movement from below made him tense up, but he relaxed when he realised that it was only Zosh and Mikbork.  
”So this is where you've been hiding,” he grunted at the goblins as they squatted nearby.  
”Wanted to see the water,” Zosh replied.  
”And the sea monsters,” Mikbork snickered.  
Graznikh bared a fang in a half-hearted grin.”Water doesn't bother ya, eh?”  
”Nar,” she shrugged. ”Not up here, it's not.”  
”Here's to it staying that way.”  
”I see a slug with a funny helmet,” Mikbork said as he peeked over the ship's rail.   
Zosh looked as well. ”Skai! I think it's eating the boat.”  
”I saw a hermit crab once,” Graznikh murmured into his bottle.  
Mikbork looked up. ”Whazzat?”  
”It's a pinchspider what steals the shells of dead sea critters and wears 'em. Switches to bigger ones when the current one's too small.”  
”I don't believe ya,” Zosh said without taking her eyes off the slug and yelped as Mikbork punched her.  
”Don't talk shit!”  
”Well, fuck you! I talk whatever I wanna!”  
”If we ever get to the real Sea I'll show ya,” Graznikh said.  
”What happens when it's too big for all the shells?” Mikbork asked.  
Graznikh leered. ”Then it switches to the skulls o' drowned tarks instead.”  
”That's _awesome_!!”  
”That's _stupid!"_ Zosh exclaimed. "There can't be enough o' them!”  
”That's why they fight over 'em,” Graznikh snickered. ”There's a full war going on down there, hordes o' hermit crabs tearin' each others' limbs off over who's got the biggest skull. Skulls? They're cold, hard cash on the sea floor.”  
Zosh giggled as though it was the silliest thing she had ever heard, but Mikbork wore a face that said 'you know _everything!_ _'._ Having finally found someone who was willing to listen to his drunk babbling, Graznikh completely lost track of time.

  
The next morning, Graznikh realised that he had fallen asleep on deck when he was woken up by the Sun frying him alive. His cloak was nowhere to be seen and he grumbled about pilfering snaga and pesky goblin thieves as he bolted for the shelter below. The wind had picked up and the sea was even rougher than the day before as the ship set out for the last stage of the journey. The constant jostling and heaving made it impossible for the Orcs and Uruks to do much besides holding on to the walls or floor with their claws to keep from being tossed around the entire room. Even a few of the Uruks became sea sick from the rocking and Praktash had to break into his ghâshpau stash early. Water kept spurting in from little chinks that temporarily opened from the force of the waves and Graznikh had to struggle to keep his fear of drowning in check. From the smell of it, the others were in a similar mood.  
The only ones who were not grumbling about the waves, the heat, the wetness or the smell of salt water and rotten fish were Mikbork and Zosh, who spent as much time as they could on deck hidden underneath Graznikh's ragged leather cloak, watching the sea and the sailors and the ship and the waves and pretty much everything else, merrily chatting in the utterly incomprehensible garble that turned out to be the Desolation snaga dialect of the Orcish tongue and squealing with laughter as the ship pranced and smashed into the roaring sea. Everyone else breathed a collective sigh of relief as the ship entered calmer waters in the river. Soon they sighted Ruzh Moraut once more.  
”I'm beginnin' to see this place in my nightmares,” Praktash commented where he stood on deck with a steady hand on the back of the High Officer's cuirass to keep her from falling overboard. Záhovar nodded weakly. She would have preferred to remain below deck and deal with this blatant weakness in a more straight-forward way, but she had to keep up appearances.  
  
Unlike the previous times, lord Dâurinzil waited on the docks when the ship moored. Záhovar had met him only briefly as her company passed Ruzh Moraut on their way south and knew very little about his person save that he was below her in rank. The Lieutenant of Lithlad was a man in his best years, with a stern face and a brow lined by constant worry. Although he had a military rank, his armour was little more than decoration; as far as Záhovar knew, Dâurinzil was more of an administrator than a warrior and had kept a low profile in high politics. _That is probably the main reason behind his being placed to govern a backwater such as this.  
_ ”Greetings, my Lord,” he said curtly as Záhovar left the ship. ”Everything has been arranged as per your instructions and will be available to you at a moment's notice.”  
”My horse?”  
”Arrived a week ago and is stabled with the others.”   
”Good. I shall not be long.”  
”'The others'? Does that mean we're gonna ride too?” Sulmurz wondered.  
”I hope it's horses,” Graznikh said with an evil leer. ”I'm looking forward to watching you enjoy the shit outta the saddle sores!”  
”Fuck off,” Sulmurz snarled.  
”You really think our master'd let ya slow us down with saddle sores?” Praktash said as he emerged from below deck with his oversized pack and an obnoxiously cheerful grin. ”Nar, nar, nar. If you get chafes, you're gonna come straight to me an' spread your legs like a good little snaga. An' then I'll take _good_ care of ya...”  
The look Sulmurz gave him could have killed.  
  
Záhovar sent her followers off to the garrison and accompanied lord Dâurinzil up to his office. ”Where were you the last two times I passed through here?”  
”We too have had problems with insurgents,” he replied with a reverent bow. ”I am charged with keeping the eastern border safe; that requires constant vigilance and unannounced inspections. I deeply apologise for my absence, my lord. I assure you I had no intention to slight you.”  
”Insurgents? Are your forces incapable of dealing with them?”  
”You clearly have greater faith in them than I do. I have things under control, but even so I dare not let my guard down.”  
”Have you made any attempts to follow these 'insurgents'? From where do they operate? How many are there? What do they do when they attack?”  
”As I said, my orders are to keep the borderlands safe, and-”  
”So you have made no attempts at all to locate them? You let them run free beyond the line drawn on the maps?”  
”Of course I do not!”  
”Then what have you _done_ , lord Dâurinzil? _Apart_ from 'unannounced inspections'?”  
Dâurinzil's jaw muscles clenched as he ground his teeth and he met Záhovar's cold stare with a defiant glare of his own. ”You took two of my three hûrk. Only thirty heads returned, many of them somewhat less than intact. I am stretched thin enough as it is because of you; I _cannot_ send more troops out to die, no matter how much I would like to!”  
”Then requisition more soldiers; if the situation is as dire as you claim, you are in your full right to do so.”  
”As I 'claim'?!” Dâurinzil snapped. ”You think me so foolish as to _exaggerate_ a situation like this?!”  
”I _think_ that you need to calm down before you say something that you will come to regret,” Záhovar hissed.  
” _You_ spirited my troops away on a suicide mission! What use is reclaiming the southern trade route if we cannot protect our own borders?”  
”At least my mission was a success. From the sound of it, the question of whether yours will be or not remains unanswered, as of yet.”  
”How _dare_ you?!”

Suddenly the door opened and a young woman walked in, reading a book. Both High Officers fell silent and turned to stare at her.  
”Hey Da, where's the- oh!” She stopped short as she spotted Záhovar. ”I'm... sorry! I'm so sorry! My lords,” she said with a quick bow and started backing out.  
”Apology accepted,” Záhovar said coolly. ”You may stay.” She glanced at Dâurinzil, who looked extremely uncomfortable. ”Introduce us.”  
He gave her a surprised look before collecting himself. ”This is Kirân, my... assista-”  
”I'm his daughter,” Kirân interrupted. ”And his unending source of disappointment because I prefer to study sorcery and warfare rather than dance and giggle like a highborn lady should.” She did a mocking imitation of a curtsy.  
Dâurinzil let out an exasperated sigh. ”My lord Záhovar, this is my daughter Kirân. Kirân, this is High Officer Záhovar, favoured by the Eye and... 'Conqueror of the Crags'? Is that correct?”  
”If you wish,” Záhovar said, ignoring his mockery for now. ”Kirân, is it? Are you from Númenor, like your father?”  
”Yes, but I haven't been there for many years,” Kirân said. ”Before... Well, we used to live in one of the colonies down south, but when my father became an Officer my mother and I moved to Rhûn. They weren't exactly accommodating to traitors in the colony.”  
”Kirân!” Dâurinzil snapped. ”We are _not_ traitors for joining the true King of Arda!”  
”I didn't say that!” Kirân snapped back. ”That's just how they saw us back there, it's not my fault they're so afraid of progress!”  
Dâurinzil sighed. ”I apologise for this,” he said to Záhovar. ”I did not intend to involve you in family matters. Nor to... My behaviour was inexcusable.”  
”Apology accepted,” Záhovar said courteously and hid a smirk as she noticed Kirân rolling her eyes. ”Will she dine with us tonight? I would be interested in hearing more of her studies.”  
Kirân brightened up at those words but Dâurinzil clearly was more reluctant. ”I am not sure if...”  
”Oh, please Da! Pleeease!”  
Dâurinzil looked from his daughter to Záhovar and back a few times before giving in. ”Very well. You are... _both..._ invited to dine with me tonight.” He turned to Kirân. ”Since you are here, perhaps you could show the lord to her quarters? You know the one, do you not?”  
”Sure I do,” Kirân replied before turning to Záhovar. ”If you wish, my lord..?”  
With one last glance at Dâurinzil, Záhovar nodded and followed Kirân out into the hallway.  
”I did not know that lord Dâurinzil had a daughter.”   
”No surprise there,” Kirân quietly replied. ”He's a bit... overprotective.” She gave Záhovar a shy smile. ”You've seen what he's like with the fortress already.”  
”Indeed?” Záhovar asked with a mocking innocence that made Kirân laugh a little. She stopped outside the same room Záhovar had occupied the previous times.  
”Here we are,” she said as she opened the door. ”I hope everything's to your satisfaction. If there's anything you need, just let me or Da... I mean lord Dâurinzil, know.”  
”Thank you,” Záhovar said. ”I look forward to the dinner tonight.”  
”So do I!” Kirân replied with a smile. ”It's so nice to have someone else to talk to for once.” She shuffled a bit. ”Can I... ask you a question?”  
”You may.”  
”Why are we to call you 'lord' Záhovar when you're a woman?”  
”The reason is twofold; during the beginning of my service, our Master suspected that the male High Officers would be less than acceptive of a woman sharing their title. It has happened only thrice before, at least openly, and only one of them rose to greatness. So He commanded that I hide my gender and pose as a man to make the elevation less cumbersome. In the best of worlds, gender should not matter, only skill. But this is not the best of worlds, not yet at any rate. The second reason is... Have you studied the Black Speech?”  
”Only a little,” Kirân admitted. ”I'm trying to, but it's complicated!”  
”In the Black Speech, there are no genders, since we are all one and the same beneath the Eye. There are specific words to set apart those who can bear children, but in everyday use the language is neutral. The Black Speech word 'goth' means both 'lord' and 'lady', but to simplify, it is most commonly translated as 'lord'. It could just as well be the other, but since most High Officers are men...” She gave Kirân a telling glance.  
”Yes, I understand,” Kirân replied. ”'Weaker sex' and all that."  
  
The door suddenly opened and Praktash sauntered in. ”Hi master!” he chirped. ”Can I talk to ya when you're done?”  
”You may.”  
”What _is_ that?” Kirân exclaimed, eyes bulging.  
”This is Praktash, my Lug-snaga and drugdealer,” Záhovar replied. ”Praktash, this is Kirân, daughter to High Officer Dâurinzil.”  
Praktash gave her an uninterested look and a curt nod. Then he frowned as Kirân circled him and looked him over, poking and prodding him as if he was a ware to be assessed.  
”An Uruk drugdealer? Wow. It looks... different.” She turned to Záhovar and missed Praktash's incredulous glare. ”Did you make this one or is it custom-built?”  
”'It' is standin' right here,” Praktash pointed out with an insulted growl before Záhovar could reply. ”An 'it' wants to talk to its master in private!”  
”Well, maybe _it_ should drug itself to some patience and learn to respect its betters,” Kirân retorted.  
” _Maybe_ little Man-cubs should learn to shut the fuck up when the grownups're talkin'!”  
”Maybe you should fuck back to your mudpit, you whorepainted shitlip!”  
Praktash's lower jaw nearly hit the floor. He grabbed Kirân with a loud snarl and flung her over his shoulder.  
”Hey, what are you doing?! Put me down!” Kirân shouted, but to no avail. Praktash marched out of the room and put her down in the corridor.  
”Go play with yourself or somethin',” he snarled and slammed the door shut in her face. ”Can you believe that?” he asked as he turned back to Záhovar, who was hiding a smile. ”What?!”  
”That escalated quickly.”  
”She started it!”  
”Something tells me I should rejoice that she is not to join us on the journey.”  
”Tell me about it! 'Whorepainted shitlip'... What the fuck does that even mean?”  
”Perhaps you should ask her?”  
”Yeah, I'm not gonna spend an eyeblink longer than necessary in that one's company.” He flashed his fangs in a grateful grin as Záhovar motioned for him to pour drinks.  
”What did you want to talk about?” she asked as he handed her one.  
”Oh, just reportin' that everythin's in order. Uruks're tucked in, Graz knocked Kraash out for bein' an idiot but he got better, 'Zat sez hi; y'know, the usual deal.”  
” _Who_ got better?”  
”Graz,” Praktash replied after downing the contents of his mug. ”He gave up on punchin' after a while. Kraash's a hopeless case, but y'knew that already.” Then he grew serious. ”Might wanna keep an eye on that one. He's stupid enough to attack _you_ if he thought he could get somethin' outta it.”  
”Your concern is touching.”  
”Just lookin' out for ya. Someone's gotta do it.”  
Záhovar nodded imperceptibly and for a brief moment, Praktash thought he saw a glimpse of that sad look he had seen on her face a few times before.  
”How is he?” she asked quietly.  
”Why don'tcha ask him?” Praktash asked softly. ”Have you?”  
”We spoke briefly on the ship.”  
Praktash leered. ”So should I send him up? I figure you've a lot of lonely bedtime to make up for.”  
”I am afraid that it will have to wait. There is simply no time; Dâurinzil invited me to dine with him and I wish to wash off first.”  
”Skai... Sorry to hear that. Want me to have the booze ready when you're done? I could spike it too; I think I got some of the heavy stuff left.”  
”I would appreciate that,” Záhovar replied. ”Which reminds me; there is a shipment of herbs and drugs waiting for you in the repository.”  
”Why didn'tcha say so in Thaurband? Woulda saved me the effort of buyin' the stuff myself.”  
”I would not dream of stealing from you an excuse for shopping,” she said with a smirk that Praktash returned.  
”All this mutual consideration! Warms me right up,” he chuckled before glancing towards the door. ”So... May I..?”  
Záhovar nodded. ”Dismissed.”

  
Half a toll later, Záhovar arrived to the dining hall and found Kirân waiting for her alone.  
”It turns out there was another border incident,” the girl informed. ”So it seems I'll be entertaining you on my own tonight, at least until my father's done shouting at his inferiors.”  
”Judging by his earlier reaction, I cannot imagine he is very happy with this situation,” Záhovar commented dryly.  
”Tell me about it,” Kirân said and rolled her eyes. ”He wanted to cancel the dinner. Good thing I'm an expert at picking locks, huh?” She clapped her hands to get the slaves' attention. ”Serve us!”  
Záhovar sat down at the table, facing Kirân. ”Is this your first visit here?”  
”Yes,” Kirân replied and motioned for the slave to serve her guest first. ”I've only seen drawings and read a bit about it. From the descriptions, it sounds rather... colourless?”  
”I would say that it is anything but,” Záhovar said with a little smile. ”It is true that scorched black dominate much of the northern mountains and the Gorgoroth plateau, but it is far from the only colour. The rainbow fumes over Kirithgal are as beautiful as they are deadly, and the ghostly light of the walls of Blog Shakâmb is a marvel to behold. Not to mention the eruptions of the Mountain; seen from the high walls of Lugburz, they are quite spectacular with the red lightning and the lava flows. Not all of the land is barren either; between here and the pass of Nurza-Shûk there are green fields, flowering swamps and even woodlands. Thaurband is a bustling trade hub, the valley of Udûn a military complex and Lugburz itself is a city far greater than the capitals of Khand or Rhûn. It is a far more diverse realm than the ta-... Númenorean propaganda would have you believe.”  
”It does sound much better than the books.”  
”Were you here when last I passed a week and a half ago? Your father was away and I did not see you.”  
”No, I'd guess he was off to 'meet' me at the time.”  
Záhovar silently took note of the way Kirân spoke the word 'meet'. _Family drama, no doubt._ ”You mentioned sorcery earlier. Is that what you study?”  
Kirân brightened up. ”Not so much sorcery as... geometry in motion. Ballistics and such. I want to develop new siege equipment, ranged weapons, that sort of things. I've been trying to apply to the Academy for years, but they've never answered.”  
”Do you know why you have not received a reply?”  
”Yes,” Kirân sighed. ”As soon as my letters pass the border, my father has them destroyed and the messengers killed. Eventually I decided to come in person, which is why I'm here. Now he won't let me leave, not even to go back home.”  
”Why so eager to go to Blog Shakâmb?”  
”It's only the most famous academy in the known world,” Kirân said enthusiastically. ”Everyone I know wants to go there, but they don't take just anyone. You have to have something, some tangible proof that you're not a waste of their time. That you can contribute and continue to do so once you're there. I brought some drawings with me when I came here, but my father had them locked up. Or destroyed, I don't know.” She looked down briefly. ”But you probably already knew all that. Sorry, I'm just rambling. Did you study there? Seeing as you're a High Officer and all.”  
”I did not go there in person, but I had its Lieutenant as my private teacher before I was elevated.”  
Kirân slowly lowered her fork and her eyes looked like they were going to fall out. ”You've studied under lady Gîrakûn? You-you've met her? You _know_ her?”  
Záhovar smirked a little. ”I cannot claim to know her, but yes, I have met her many times.”  
”She's a _legend!_ ” Kirân exclaimed. ”Is it true that she created the Black Uruks?”  
Záhovar was a bit taken aback by the outburst. ”No mere sorcerer can create life from nothing. But it is true that she had a part in their design, and she is currently the administrator of their breeding and selection program. Among many other things.”  
”I can imagine,” Kirân said. ”She must have a lot of responsibility on her shoulders. What's she like as a teacher? If you don't mind my asking, that is.”  
”She is stern and accepts no excuses for failure. But she is also a good teacher who knows how hard to push her students. She can also be very terrifying, if one displeases her... I do not think that students have anything to truly fear from her though. Not unless they manage to destroy her books,” Záhovar added with a smile. ”Rivals, on the other hand, have no mercy to expect.”  
”Isn't that as it should be? I mean, if you're stupid enough to go up against a High Officer you deserve what's coming for you.”  
”If more people saw things that way, the war might have already been won.”  
”Yeah, lucky us, huh?” Kirân blushed as Záhovar gave her a quizzical look. ”I mean... We're going to win the war, that's a given! But war makes for so many opportunities while it lasts, might as well have some fun while we're at it, right?”  
Záhovar smirked. ”If more people saw things that way, the world might be a merrier place.”  
  
They ate in silence for a brief while.  
”Why does your father not want you to study?”  
”To be honest, I'm not really sure. Every time I ask he drones on and on about how dangerous Lugburz is and how it's no place for a young lady.” Kirân snorted. ”As if living in the colony with all the assassinations going on wasn't dangerous. I know how to take care of myself!”  
”Assassinations?”  
”Yes, people kept disappearing. Anyone who wasn't all for the king got cut-off sheep's heads nailed to their doors and things like that. The King's Men are fanatics; I'm glad to be out of there.”  
Záhovar smirked a little. _And so you think that there are no assassinations or inexplicable disappearances in Lugburz, do you?_ ”What of Rhûn? You mentioned that you stayed there.” She continued as Kirân nodded. ”Did you find it as cutthroat as the colony?”  
”Not at all! It's much calmer, but not _too_ calm. The bazaars are wonderful! Have you been there?”  
”I visited the capital with lady Gîrakûn once, during the old khagan's rule. I imagine that much has changed since then.”  
”I'm afraid you'll have to ask my father about that. I've only lived there a few years, but I know he was there when the old khagan disappeared.”  
Záhovar frowned. ”Disappeared?”  
  
Dâurinzil chose that moment to enter the dining hall. ”My lord,” he greeted Záhovar with a deep bow, ”I am deeply regretful and terribly sorry for this delay.”  
”No apologies needed,” Záhovar replied. ”Duty first.”  
”As always,” Däurinzil agreed. He glanced at Kirân as she signalled for the slaves to serve him. ”I hope my daughter's sharp tongue has not displeased you.”  
”On the contrary; she is a bright young woman. We were just discussing the political situation in Rhûn; perhaps you could fill in some blanks for us?”  
Dâurinzil shot his daughter a confused and slightly suspicious glance; Záhovar suspected that he had rarely conversed with her on such topics, if ever. ”...Yes. Rhûn.” He cleared his throat. ”What would you like to know, my lord?”  
”I have been told that you were present for the recent shift of power in the khaganate.”  
”I was,” Dâurinzil replied. ”It was a turbulent time, to be sure. The old khagan was a person of great strength and they were deeply respected by the citizens. The new one is... less so.”  
”What is the current situation?”  
”A delicate balance, at best. The clergy are loyal to Lugburz, of course, but the citizens are more ambivalent. Propaganda and insurgents I suspect, like everywhere else. The Wainriders, on the other hand...” Dâurinzil frowned.  
”Hostile?” Záhovar asked.  
”No, not at present. From what I hear, they have been unusually distant since the late khagan's disappearance. But who can truly understand the minds of savages?”  
”Tell me more of this disappearance. What were the circumstances?”  
”No one really knows what happened,” Kirân said. ”But there was a lot of talk even long before they disappeared. People said they looked strange, as if one could see right through them when they stood in the sunlight.”  
”Nonsense,” Dâurinzil muttered.  
”Sunlight, you say?” Záhovar smirked a little. ”Tell me... did these rumours ever speak of a ring? A silver ring, set with a black gem that the khagan never took off?”  
Kirân looked up. ”Yes... Yes, they did. Or, not _those_ rumours, but it was said that the Dark Lord Himself visited them long ago and granted them a token of His endorsement and support.”  
”The khagan took it as a sign that their rule was divine,” Dâurinzil added, ”and no new khagan was ever elected while they sat on the throne. But surely you know this! And what could that possibly have to do with their disappearance?”  
”It has everything to do with their disappearance,” Záhovar said with a knowing smile. ”Tell me; was this khagan not originally of the Wainriders' folk? And did the Wainriders not give them the title 'Khamûl' in honour of their great achievements as ruler and the long-lasting peace they brought?”  
Dâurinzil and Kirân exchanged a surprised look.  
”Speak up then,” Dâurinzil said. ”What is this great secret? Where did the khagan go?”  
”Nazgûl.”  
Kirân frowned in confusion but Dâurinzil's eyes widened and he swallowed. ”Nazgûl?” he whispered hoarsely.  
”Great deeds warrant great rewards. They were given the greatest; to know our Master's mind without barriers and to be joined with Him for a single purpose; the same which they worked for all their lives.”  
”What's a 'nazgûl'?” Kirân asked.  
”I will explain it to you later,” Dâurinzil told her quietly. The rest of the dinner passed in a rather subdued mood.

  
As night reached its end, the Orcs and Uruks were bored. They had been crammed into the same small room and the new Uruks were somewhat disgruntled about having to share space with not only snaga but _goblins_ too. Most of them were too tired from the boat trip to spar, there was no equipment left in need of repair and none of them were eager to get further involved with the snaga. Margzat had gone to socialise with the other Low Officers and with their krîtar absent, the only entertainment left was gossip.  
”Seriously?” Grôturz snorted. ”He _cooks_?”  
”Aye,” Mûrnaluzh snickered. ”Our krîtar's a queer one. Plays with the snaga, plays the snaga.”  
”But _why_? Why not have the snaga do it?”  
”Wouldn't like my cooking,” Zosh commented without looking up from her work. Záhovar's cloak had torn at the hem and Zosh was now repairing it in crude Orcish fashion under Graznikh's watchful eye.  
”Who cares?” Gimtog snarled. ”'At's snaga work, not something a krîtar should be at.”  
”You'd care if ya ever tasted her cooking,” Mikbork said without looking up from his fletching.  
”Is she really that bad?” Graznikh asked, ignoring the Uruks' grumbles. He had a pile of rawhide strips in his lap; since Zosh seemed to be doing fine, he had taken the opportunity to make some new things to keep his skills up-to-date.  
”Yup,” Mikbork and Zosh said in unison, nodding vigorously.  
”I made a guy break his neck by vomiting too hard once.”  
”That wasn't just bad meat?” Graznikh asked once he managed to stop laughing.  
”That's the thing,” Mikbork said with a grin. ”She can't even tell that it's bad.”  
”I've never gotten ill from it,” Zosh pointed out.  
”Nar, but everyone else has.”  
Graznikh grinned. ”So on a scale from High Officer's kitchen to-”  
”Morigost.”  
”Nar, seriously?”  
”No idea what that is, but yeah,” Zosh said.  
”She's worse than the cook there,” Mikbork said with a wince.  
” _Is_ there even a cook in Morigost?” Sulmurz grunted. ”I thought it was just random folks throwing stuff in the pots whenever they seemed to be running low on sludge.”  
”Doesn't matter. She's still worse.”  
Sulmurz leered at that. ”We should hold a cooking contest at some point. Zosh versus krîtar.” Ghakû chuckled at that and Kraash lit up like a beacon.  
”Hey, that's not fair!” Zosh exclaimed.  
”Worst cook wins.”  
”...Oh!”  
”So is anybody gonna tell the krîtar about this?” Graznikh asked. Everyone looked completely innocent.  
”Why would we do _that?_ ” Sulmurz asked.  
”And who's gonna be the judge?”  
”Err...”   
Sulmurz squeaked as Graznikh caught his neck with a snarl. ”If you say 'Záhovar', so help me I'll-”  
”I was gonna say 'the drugdealer'!” Sulmurz croaked.  
”Like that's bloody better?”  
”We'll come up with something!!”  
”...Good.”  
”What about you?” Zosh chirped. ”I heard ya like eatin' stuff ya dunno what it is.”  
”Says who?”  
”The drugdealer,” Zosh replied with an innocent grin.  
”He _did,_ did he?” Graznikh let Sulmurz go. ”I'mma go have a serious chat with that one about tellin' such nasty stories to little ones.” He half expected Zosh to start yelling at him for calling her 'little', but the snaga woman just fell over laughing and pulled her protesting mate down with her.   
”Zosh, for fuck's sake! Ya ruined my arrow!!” Mikbork snarled. Then he squeaked as Zosh peeked inside his loincloth.  
”Nothin' wrong with _that_ arrow,” she snickered and rolled away as Mikbork tried to punch her.  
Graznikh grinned a little at them. Watching the bonded mates' antics was bittersweet, because it was a painful reminder of what he had lost. He stood with a sigh. _Better go track Praktash down... I need some bloody cuddles.  
_ Zosh and Mikbork stopped fighting the moment Graznikh was out of earshot and looked at Sulmurz. ”He never said he wouldn't do it, did 'e?”  
”Nar,” Sulmurz grinned. ”He didn't.”  
  
After checking the shipment mentioned by Záhovar, Praktash found that there was more than just herbs, resin, bark, roots, sap and other drugs. There were also neat rolls of hemp bandages, square chunks of soap wrapped in waxcloth, spare surgery needles, reels of thread and even sealed pouches of powdered silver. _She doesn't expect me to carry all this, does she? I'mma break my back!  
_ After marking which crates were his, he left the crammed store room and went for a stroll along the outer wall of the fortress. On the western side, which currently lay in deep shadow despite the approaching dawn, there was an extension of the wall that jutted out like a narrow balcony over the river far below and which could be reached by a flight of stairs in each end. Praktash went down there and enjoyed the cool, damp air and the rare quiet of early dawn.  
”So are you some kind of prototype?”  
A familiar voice broke his reverie and Praktash turned to glare at Kirân, who was sitting on top of the battlements. ”What the fuck's that supposed to mean?”  
”I guess I have to use simpler words,” she murmured before continuing a little louder: ”I mean, are you some kind of limited edition toy that the Academy conjured up in a weak moment and then tried their best to forget about?”  
”What?!”  
”I'm not judging, it can happen to the best.”  
”I'm not some bloody construct!”  
”Sure you are. You Uruks were all made in Blog Shakâmb. It's even there in your number.”  
He shot her a nasty leer. ”Get down here an' I'll _show_ you how Uruks are made.”  
”Threatening a High Officer's daughter isn't the smartest thing you could do.”  
”Nar, you're right. Fuckin' her daddy up the arse 'til he weeps blood from both ends would be much smarter.”  
”Eww!!”  
”Don't like it?” Praktash leered. ”Then maybe I should tell ya about that time your daddy walked in on me'n 'Zat when he had his thumb up my arse! He sure took his sweet time getting outta there, I was just about to invite him to stay an' watch with the face he made. And the _bulge._ ”  
”Well, that pretty much confirms it; you _are_ someone's toy!”  
Praktash rolled his eyes. ”You're bloody curious about toys, aren'tcha? Go find your own Uruk to play with if you're that desperate, I'm already taken.”  
”Have you ever thought about answering a question without insults?”  
”Have you ever thought about not bein' a dick?!”  
”I'm _not-_ ”  
”Nar? A dick is somethin' that pokes your arse until it's messed the whole place up. I figure you fit the description just right!”  
”Someone ought to teach you how to properly adress your superiors!”  
”Fuck off! Lord Záhovar loves trash-talk; I'm just practicin' for our next rut.”  
Kirân scowled. ”How dare you?! Lord Záhovar would never-”  
”-take it up her arse from an Uruk? You bet she does, an' loves every moment of it!”  
”You're disgusting!! And you're a liar!”  
”Oh yeah?”  
”Yes!”  
”Why?”  
”Because High Officers don't do that kind of stuff!”  
”Oh yeah, sure they don't!” Praktash replied. ”I could tell ya stories 'bout Officers what'd curl your toes an' leave ya sleepless for days to come!” Then he pretended to sober up. ”...But I won't. Wouldn't be right, tellin' that kind 'o stories to a little whelp.”  
”I'm _not_ a whelp!”  
”Oh yeah? How many've you fucked?”  
”I'm not gonna tell you that!”  
”Really? No one?” Praktash chuckled. ”Then you've got a lot to learn... Whelp. But not from me.” Then he gave her a thoughtful glance while ignoring her fuming. ”Maybe Sulmurz'd do it. He's a soft fuck, regular Orc too, you _might_ be able to take his cock without tearin' down the middle.”  
”I'm not going to listen to this!!” Kirân snapped and began to walk away.  
”Finally she gets it,” Praktash murmured, just loud enough for her to hear. ”Go flirt with someone who likes it. Desperate little bitch.”

Kirân spun. ”You know what? I bet you have 'lady Gîrakûn owns this' written in scars all over your butt!”  
Praktash's eyes widened and he quickly stomped away, hounded by Kirân's laughter. The next moment he had dashed up the stairs to the wall and fell upon her as she tried to run. He pushed her down over the battlement and held her by the wrists from the wall, dangling over the jagged rocks on the river bed far below.  
”No!! Help me, HELP!!!”  
”D'ya like to fly, little bird?” Praktash whispered in her ear. He pretended to drop her a few times and she screamed as he shoved her back and forth over the edge. When he pulled Kirân back to safety, she was crying hysterically.  
”Here's a proper lesson for ya,” Praktash said with a calm smile. ”Don't fuckin' underestimate people. Whatever you've read in those fancy books of yours, it's not all true. Uruks're not constructs, we're not playthings, we're livin', breathin' _people._ You should be bloody grateful for this; if I'd been Mûrna or Ghrazagh, you woulda been bouncin' on my cock, cryin' for mercy by now! An' they woulda probably passed you 'round the whole garrison once they were done with ya.” He let her regain her footing and supported her with a hand on her shoulder. ”Now you might be wantin' to run off to your daddy an' snitch on me. By all means, do that! Lord Záhovar's elevated enough to cut him up an' eat him for breakfast if she wanted to. He's already spurned her thrice over by leavin' her reception to Low Ones while goin' playhuntin'. One more insult an' you might wake up one pretty evenin' to find his skinless corpse nailed to the front gate.” Praktash gave her a beaming grin. ”Welcome to Lugburz!”   
With that, he let the crying girl go and strutted away.

 


	3. Departure

Záhovar waited for Dâurinzil in his study when he returned to it after saying good night to Kirân.  
”You should let her go.”  
”I knew you would say that.”  
”You have no right to withhold her.”  
”She is my _daughter_!” Dâurinzil snapped. ”And as long as she remains unmarried, I have every right to do so. She is not fit to go to Blog Shakâmb or anywhere else in the Black Land for that matter!”  
”Why not?”  
Dâurinzil snorted. ”Because she is too young. And a girl at that! She does not have the strength or guile necessary to survive in Lugburz.”  
Záhovar gave him a cold look. ”In case you have failed to notice, both I and High Officer Gîrakûn are women. Are you implying that women are somehow less fit to be High Officers? That you have some mystical 'guile' by virtue of your cock that we somehow lack?”  
”Of course not,” Dâurinzil said with a scandalised scowl.  
”And have you not been a fledgling once, eager to test your wings? Have we not all? None of us were born High Officers. We were _made_ , as she may be, if she wishes it. But if I am to believe her words, she does not have that kind of ambition.”  
”You know full well that being a scholar in Blog Shakâmb can be as dangerous as standing on the front lines!”  
”Indeed? And werein would this 'danger' lie, if she makes herself useful and is able to hold her own?”  
Dâurinzil opened his mouth as if to speak, but no words came out. Záhovar smirked. ”Clever man. You know full well that what you are trying to do could be seen as treason. We all belong to Him. It is not your place to keep another from entering His service. Besides, while you are trying to protect your daughter from the lesser danger, you leave her defenseless against the greater one. Think you that your former peers would be merciful to the child of a 'traitor'? Once the war breaks out, I daresay there is no safer place for her than Blog Shakâmb, no matter who rules it.”  
Dâurinzil buried his face in his hands with a sigh. ”Very well. I shall make the necessary arrangements.” Then he looked up. ”Is it true? What you said about the late khagan?”  
Záhovar nodded. ”I did not know the Second's former identity, until now; Kirân's words about him being transparent in the light of day was the key.”  
”You would know, would you not?” He sighed again, then stifled a yawn with the back of his hand. ”I apologize for my rudeness. It has been a long night.”  
”Indeed. If there is nothing more to discuss..?”  
Dâurinzil shook his head and stifled another yawn.

When Záhovar returned to her quarters, Praktash startled her. He was leaning against the wall behind the door and spoke the moment she closed it.  
”Before you say anythin'; yes I did, nar I didn't try to kill her, just prove a point, and yes it was stupid.”  
Záhovar jumped with a loud hiss. ”What in the Void are you talking about?” she asked once she had calmed down enough to speak.  
”You..? Oh. She didn't..? Right.” He grunted as Záhovar pinched his chin and forced him to meet her gaze.  
”Speak.”  
”I'm tryin' to!” Praktash rubbed his chin when she let him go. ”So me an' Kirân... may have fought a bit. Or a lot.” He quickly explained the situation.  
”Is she still alive? No broken bones? Then what is the problem?” she asked when he shook his head.  
”Err... That she was cryin'? ...That she'll tell her sire?”  
Záhovar gave him a blank look.   
”Oh, c'mon!” Praktash exclaimed. ”Whaddya want me to say?”  
”I care nothing for your bootcamp theatrics,” Záhovar replied. ”Dâurinzil is a mildly competent border guard and his daughter has yet to prove her potential. If she believes everything she reads and takes being corrected personal before she has the strength to act upon the slight, then her fate will be sealed before she has even tested her wings. She needs to learn the consequences of her actions, the hard way if necessary, and you helped her admirably in that endeavour.”  
Praktash gave her a surprised look. ”So... I didn't mess up?”  
”Whatever made you believe that I would take the side of a fledgling acolyte rather than yours?” Záhovar asked with a little smile. Praktash's face cracked up in a wide grin and after a moment's hesitation, he lifted her up by her armpits and hugged her close. He noticed that despite the armour she was light, far lighter than any Orc of the same size, no matter how scrawny. She also felt colder to the touch than usual.  
”Skai, we're really a team, aren't we?” he chuckled.  
”If you wish,” she replied and wrapped her legs around his waist.  
”Yeah, I do! I want us all to be; you, me, Graz, 'Zat... Sully too, I guess. He has his uses, eh?” Praktash leered at her telling smirk. He leaned her against the wall, where he used his hips to pin her in place and rested his hands on her hips.  
”So were you serious with that threat back in Thaurband?” he murmured as he leaned his forehead against hers. ”I'm still to stay away from Sully?”  
”Yes,” she said firmly. ”I will not have you run him off before I am done with him.”  
”Y'know, I don't think he'll run. Doesn't matter what I do; he fancies ya too much.”  
”I will not risk it for your entertainment's sake.”  
”Alright, I'll stay put.” He sniffed a little and caught her shoulder in his fangs with a low, deep growl.   
Záhovar gave him a quizzical look once he let go. ”You are being unusally affectionate.”  
”I'm glad you wanna make 'Zat one of us,” he murmured. ”I know he's been screamin' on the inside for a long time.”  
”I know. He said as much when I made the offer.”  
”Yeah... I mean, I get that you probably have other reasons for doin' this, same as with me. He's a nicely sized chunk o' muscle to have on your side. But still... It matters.” He laughed a little. ”Did ya know he almost backed out when I talked to him about it?”  
Záhovar arched an eyebrow. ”Indeed? Why?”  
Praktash choked back laughter. ”'Cause I told him about... Well, 'bout you an' Graz, an' me, an'... Y'know. He had the idea that you fuck _all_ your Lug-snaga, an' he was bloody _scared_! Guess why?”  
”You need say no more,” Záhovar said with a smirk. ”I seem to recall reading a note about his 'failure' in the breeding pits when browsing his dossier in the Census Archives.”  
The grin faded from Praktash's lips and he suddenly looked uncomfortable. ”The, uh... the Archives write that kind o' stuff in the files, do they?”  
”Of course they do. Why would they not? All important details must be recorded.”  
”I'm guessin' I don't wanna know what's written in _my_ files.”  
Záhovar gave him a strange look that for some reason sent a chill down his spine. ”No, you do not.”  
”Why, what's in there?”  
”I will not tell you.”  
”What? C'mon, why not? How bad izzit?”  
” _However,_ if you truly wish to know, then I shall order a full copy once we return to Lugburz.”  
Praktash looked at her in surprise. ”You would?” He smiled nervously as she nodded. ”I'm not gonna like that read, am I?” Záhovar shook her head and Praktash let her back down. ”Well... Good thing it won't happen anytime soon, then.”  
”What did you tell Margzat when he had his... idea?”  
”Only that if you had that kinda interest, you'da hauled him in by now.”  
”Whatever makes you think that I will not abuse him mercilessly once he is securely under my control?”  
Praktash's eyes widened. ”'Cause... Then you wouldn'ta told me all about it like this, maybe? Oh c'mon master,” he pleaded as Záhovar's smirk turned into a leer. ”Don't do this to me!”  
”Very well. It is perhaps a little too late for... mind-messing.” Her smile widened a little as Praktash leaned back against the wall and let out a much exaggerated sigh of relief. She went over to the armour stand in the corner and began to remove her armour. After a few moments Praktash was there and helped her by lifting the cuirass over her head. After placing it on the stand, he ran his hands over her shoulders and back.  
”What are you doing?” Záhovar asked.  
”Just checkin'. You okay? No chafes or blisters?”  
”When have I ever had blisters?”  
”Never, but you never know. I guess Officer armour is better fit than the grunts' gear. Also, they keep shuttin' up about it thinkin' it makes 'em look tough an' come to me when the wounds've gone bad. I wish they'd come whinin' at the first scratch, that'd make my job that much easier.”  
”Shall I issue a decree?”   
Praktash chuckled. ”Nar, I'm good. You're the one payin' for all the wasted stuff. Speakin' of wasted; I left the bottles you wanted on the tray.”  
”Good,” Záhovar muttered. ”I do need this.”  
Praktash chuckled. ”Yeah, I might down one myself an' snuggle the crap outta 'Zat. Or Graz, if I can catch him.”  
”Has he been that elusive?”  
”Nar, but he keeps hangin' out with Sully an' you told me to steer clear of him, so...” He rolled his eyes at Záhovar's blank look. ”I'm not askin' for permission to jump him! I'm just whinin'. Here's the only place I can do it without a bunch of Uruks throwin' stuff at me to make me shut up.”  
”Yours is a cruel lot,” Záhovar said dryly.  
”Tell me about it,” Praktash murmured and rubbed his blunt nose against her ear before backing towards the door.   
  


As Graznikh crossed a corner, he was almost run over by lord Dâurinzil. The High Officer took a step back and glared at him, then backhanded him hard and walked off with a few muttered curses about clumsy cretins. Graznikh snarled at him and spat some curses of his own, but played it safe by using his old tribal tongue so that the High Officer could not understand.  
After looking everywhere without finding Praktash, Graznikh decided to try one last place; the High Officers' guest quarters. He lifted his hand to tap his claws against the door, but it opened before he could do so and he suddenly found himself face to face with Záhovar. At first, he had no idea what to say. Záhovar kept watching him with that cool, calm expression devoid of all emotion and for some reason, it rendered him speechless.  
”Hi buddy!” Praktash exclaimed. ”Don't worry,” he said with a knowing grin when Graznikh opened his mouth to speak. ”I was just about to leave.”  
”Oh... Great! I'll-” Graznikh began, but Praktash was already walking fast down the corridor.  
”See ya tomorrow!” With that he was gone. Graznikh stared after him, silently begging him to return and save him, but the hallway lay empty. He sighed and glanced at Záhovar.  
”Did you have to take the kritauk title from me? Nobody bloody listens to me anymore.”  
”The only one who can reclaim that authority is you. Title or no.”  
Graznikh snorted quietly. ”Izzat so..?”  
”Did you want something?”  
”Well, I, err... How was the trip? Feeling better?” _Oh, for the everlovin' fuck! Of_ course _she's better, you don't need to ask that you stupid-_  
”I am... Though I look forward to travelling on dry land once more.”  
”Aye, me too.”  
Záhovar took a step back and moved her hand towards the door in a silent invitation. Graznikh almost backed out then and there, but he couldn't very well refuse his own master. As she closed the door, the sound seemed to echo in his head. A quick glance at his hands revealed that they were shaking. _Am I nervous? Why the fuck'm I nervous for, I've known her for almost as long as I can remember! Come on, quit bein' a sniveling snaga!  
_ ”Are you thirsty?”  
”Bit parched...”  
Záhovar made a 'be my guest'-gesture as she sat down at the table, and Graznikh went over to the low cupboard. He frowned as he sniffed the bottles on the tray. ”Regular booze? What happened to ghâshpau?”  
”The taste reminds me of the ship,” Záhovar replied,” and so I decided that I was due for a temporary change of taste.”  
”Figures,” Graznikh muttered as he filled two of the finely painted and glazed clay goblets that stood beside the bottles. ”Why d'ya get so sick every time you get on a boat?”  
”Perhaps I shall put Praktash in charge of the library and the scholars and command him to find out once we return.”  
”He'd bloody celebrate,” Graznikh chuckled. Záhovar gave him a nod when he handed the goblet to her. ”Fancy shit,” he commented, giving the goblet in his own hand a critical look as he took the seat closest to the door.  
”Lord Dâurinzil is not known for his austerity.”  
”The robes kinda gave him off. How the fuck does he fight in those?”  
”He does not; he has others to do it for him.”  
”...Bloody idiot. What's he gonna do when the war starts for real?”  
”No doubt the same as he does now; administrate and pretend that he has the slightest clue about strategy.”  
Graznikh grinned. ”Don't like him, eh?”  
”I despise him. He is a fool who allows his own personal troubles to get in the way of the good of Lugburz. But it matters little; he is no threat and has his place and use. There is no need to dwell on it; we have more important prey to hunt.”  
 _  
'We', eh? So I haven't screwed things up completely?_ ”Yeah, I can't wait to shove my knives in that bastard's back!”  
”That is assuming that we _do_ catch him. Much can go awry on the way.”  
”Well, if we don't at least pretend that we can catch him, we might as well give up and go home right now. I've been longing for that moment ever since-... Hm.” _Ever since he tipped the Eye off about us... but I can't bloody well tell ya that, now can I?  
_ Záhovar arched an eyebrow, and for a moment Graznikh worried that he had crossed the line. But she only frowned. ”Since what?”  
He sighed, quietly cursing his wagging tongue. ”He did some bloody stupid stuff back before I ended up in Lugburz. And there's the shit he put Praktash through. I've got a huge, rotten bone to pick with him 'bout that.”  
”Do not get your hopes up too high.”  
”Oh, come on! In what way could this go wrong? We search for him, find out whatever he's doing, kill him and take the credit for whatever good stuff he's found.”  
”I know of one,” Záhovar replied.  
”Oho? Gimme.”  
”We could reach the end of this trail only to find Dachman already dead. Choked on a fishbone or some such thing. That would be rather anticlimactic.”  
Graznikh sprayed booze halfway across the table as he started laughing. Záhovar's face was devoid of amusement as he looked up, and he tried to choke it back. But then she gave him a knowing little smile and even laughed a little.  
”You just like watching me squirm, do ya?” Graznikh chuckled.  
”It is a pleasant change from the curses and seething.”  
”Tell me about it.” He emptied the goblet and when Záhovar motioned for him to refill hers, he brought back all the bottles.  
”Are you planning on getting drunk?”  
”Might as well, since the high lord's so bloody generous. Unless ya disapprove..?” He grinned as she made a 'be my guest'-gesture. ”Thought so!”  
  
”Ya really should make more enemies,” Graznikh told Záhovar after a while. ”I bloody miss fighting; all I've done lately's herding snaga, and that's nowhere near as fun.”  
”And yet you are doing a fine job of it. Life is not all about fun and fighting.”  
He gave her a languishing look. ”I _know_ that. Skai, do I know! Doesn't make me miss the fun less.”  
”You will undoubtedly have your chances. The road to Rhûn is long, and I suspect that the 'insurgents' which Dâurinzil mentioned will be the least of our troubles. Not to mention that Rhûn itself is in a rather fragile state.”  
”Good!” Graznikh purred. ”I'mma give 'em shit to pull themselves together about if they try anything.”  
He opened his mouth to say more, but at that moment the door flew open and lord Dâurinzil stomped in, completely livid. Graznikh jumped up and landed on the table in a crouch, blades in hand and growling viciously. Dâurinzil stopped short to stare at him.  
”How may I be of assistance?” Záhovar asked calmly. ”Graznikh, stand down. For now.”  
Dâurinzil watched with a frown as Graznikh returned the blades to their sheaths, casually jumped off the table and moved to stand beside his master. The surprise had seemingly taken the edge off his anger, but he still glowered as he turned to Záhovar.  
”I have been informed that your Uruk attempted to rape and murder my daughter!”  
Záhovar arched an eyebrow. ”And which one of them is it that you accuse?”  
”One with red hair, green eyes and-” He was interrupted as Graznikh exploded with laughter. ”Perhaps you should send your snaga off? It is clearly unfit to attend matters like these.”  
”That is not for you to decide,” Záhovar replied while struggling to keep the smile off her lips. ”Yes, he lost his temper. But that was only after your daughter pestered him with undue questions and distracted him while he was cataloguing our stores for the journey, a task that _I_ had given him. She had no right to interfere. And Praktash may have given her a fright, but he knows better than to go any further without my leave.”  
Dâurinzil opened his mouth to protest but Záhovar interrupted him. ”Think you that I had not informed my retinue of Kirân's presence immediately after I left your office, as well as what would happen should they cause her any harm? Why would I go to any length to convince you to let her go if I believed her unimportant?”  
Now Dâurinzil looked thoroughly humbled. ”Then... I apologise for this interruption. I shall speak with her and make sure that there are no more disturbances from her part.”  
”And I shall be gone by tomorrow eve. But others may not be as forgiving; make sure that she understands this.”  
”Master, may I speak?” Graznikh murmured. Záhovar nodded and he turned to lord Dâurinzil with a lopsided grin. ”I don't think ya need to worry 'bout yer daughter, not from him. Should worry more 'bout your own arse getting ambushed.”  
”Behave,” Záhovar murmured with a half-hidden smirk. Dâurinzil gave them both a scandalised glare before marching out.

Once the door slammed shut, Graznikh started laughing again. ”What the ever-lovin' fuck _was_ that?! 'Your Uruk raped my daughter'... And trying to frame Praktash of all people?” He shot Záhovar a wide grin and noticed that the candles on the wall behind her had strange, rainbow-coloured halos. ”The fuck..? 'M I drunk already?”  
”Drugged, more likely,” Záhovar replied. ”That last mug you emptied was from the spiked bottle Praktash brought me earlier.”  
”Wonderful,” Graznikh murmured as he leaned onto the table, folding his arms beneath his head. He felt strangely light and content, like all his worries were far away. ”Skai, I'm wasted! What's in that stuff?”  
”Some kind of herbal oil. He would not give me any clearer answer than so.”  
”Thazz my buddy! Holds his recipes tighter'n a Dwarf holds his ham.”  
Záhovar frowned. ”Ham?”  
”Aye,” Graznikh grinned. ”My band tried to raid a bunch of 'em once. Dwarves I mean, not ham. Or we were after the ham, but the Dwarves... Never mind! Did ya know they _throw_ axes? The Dwarves I mean. Bloody crazy beard-stumps.” He chuckled and glanced at her. ”Know what I think?”  
Záhovar looked slightly concerned as she met his gaze. ”What do you think?”  
”I think we should cuddle.”  
Záhovar arched an eyebrow. ”Excuse me?”  
”Nope! I think we should cuddle.” He snickered at her wide-eyed look. ”Oh, c'mon! We haven't done that in ages!” He held his arms out towards the perplexed Officer. ”Gimme snuggles or I'mma come and take 'em myself!”  
”And if I decide that you are to leave instead?”  
”Then you'll hafta toss me out yourself. I can't feel my legs.”  
Záhovar reminded herself to scold Praktash for not marking the bottles better at the next opportune moment. Despite his claim of not being able to feel his legs, Graznikh clearly remembered how to use them; the moment she rose from the table he fell upon her and pulled her close with a loud purr. His armour grated against her unprotected skin as he squeezed her.  
”Graznikh, you are hurting me!”   
”Don'tcha worry, I'll fix that!” Záhovar gasped as he swept her off her feet and tossed her into bed. He quickly undressed before pouncing her again and after a few moments of flailing and struggling they were both naked and covered by the blanket. At first, Záhovar thought that he would molest her, but he only rubbed his face against hers for a while before getting comfortable behind her. A moment later he was fast asleep. Záhovar breathed a sigh of relief and allowed herself to relax a little; the heavy drugs Praktash had provided and Graznikh's soft purrs helped her do so. A sound made her open an eye. The door opened and Praktash tiptoed in.  
”I just forgot this,” he whispered as he picked his satchel up from the floor. Then he gave the purring Graznikh a big grin.  
”This is your fault!” Záhovar hissed.  
”What? How is this _my_ fault?”  
”You forgot to mark the bottle!”  
Praktash's eyes widened in astonishment. ”He _drank_ from that?! Oh shit!”  
”Will it harm him?”  
”Nar, not this one. The effect wears off after a good day's sleep. Might have a bit of an ache though, I'll give him somethin' to help with that tomorrow. Anyway, have a good day's sleep an'... Well, I'd wish ya a good evenin' too, but I doubt he'll be 'up' for it,” he added with a wink before closing the door, chuckling at Záhovar's glare.  
  
  
Graznikh did not even have time to open his eyes before the events of the previous night came tumbling down on him. Every muscle in his body screamed as he tried to move and he fell back down on the too soft mattress with a low howl.  
”I'm such a fucking idiot,” he muttered into it.  
”Don't worry, I'm sure she'll forgive ya,” Praktash snickered.  
”...She's pissed, isn't she?”  
Praktash shook his head and helped him up so that he could take the painkiller. ”But I think she woulda been more pleased if you'd put out.”   
Graznikh snorted. ”The fuck happened last night anyway? I just had a few drinks, then everything went pink and fuzzy-like.”  
Praktash began to laugh and it took some time for him to explain it all. Graznikh groaned with embarrassment when he was done. ”So I'm not just an idiot, I'm an idiot junkie...” Then he frowned. ”She takes that stuff often?”  
Praktash nodded. ”Every now an' then. Helps her sleep.”   
”Hnh... It sure helped _me_ sleep. So what's going on now? We off?”  
”Yeah, we're to gather by the north gate.”  
”Right...” Graznikh swung his legs over the edge of the bed and tried to get up, but Praktash stopped him with a hand on his chest. Graznikh frowned as he noticed the dangerous gleam in the Uruk's eyes. ”Now what?”  
”Where d'you think you're goin', snaga?” Praktash purred.  
”The fuck d'ya want?”  
”It's not so much what I want as what _you_ want. Now I'm givin' ya a choice; either you roll over right now, or face the consequences.”  
”What..?” Graznikh began, but Praktash placed a finger on his lips with a predatory leer.  
”One... Two... Thr- eightnineten!” Before Graznikh could react, Praktash shoved him back into bed and dove down between his legs where he expertly stripped Graznikh of all his defenses. Soon he was loudly pleading with him not to stop, never to stop and to please go faster.  
  
Záhovar chose that moment to walk in with Sulmurz in tow. Both Graznikh, Praktash and Sulmurz squeaked as one as they all stared at each other. Graznikh gave Záhovar a meek little grin.  
”Hi master!” Praktash exclaimed while licking his lips. Her smirk told him that they had her full support in what they were doing.  
”In _my_ bed?” she asked.  
”T'was his idea!” Graznikh blurted out. Then he fell back down with a low groan as Praktash began to work his cock over with lips and tongue again.  
From the moment Sulmurz locked eyes with the green-eyed Uruk, he could not look away. It was as though he was standing right in front of a charging cavalry, unable to do anything but watch with wide eyes as they were about to run him down. Praktash held his gaze with sultry eyes and slowly licked, nibbled and sucked and made Graznikh writhe and beat the mattress with his fists. Then he turned and looked straight at him and Sulmurz's eyes widened even more. The Uruk's soft lips parted in a sensual sigh and Sulmurz's breath hitched in his throat. Then he bared his fangs and snapped them hard, breaking whatever spell Sulmurz had been under. He twitched hard and suddenly realised that both Graznikh and Záhovar were staring at him with identical arched eyebrows.   
”Nar,” Sulmurz whispered and slowly began to shake his head as he met Záhovar's gaze. ”Nar, nar! Nar!!” Then he bolted.   
Praktash chuckled darkly. ”Looks like _someone's_ got some explainin' to do.” Then the grin faded from his face and he swallowed hard. ”M-master... I-I didn't mean-”  
”No,” Záhovar replied dryly. ”Of course you did not.” Then she smirked. ”Proceed. Perhaps I shall have to comb my own hair tonight.”  
Graznikh was still breathing hard when the door closed and he glanced at Praktash. ”That... was kind o' a moodkiller. Let's just-”  
”Didn'tcha hear the master?” Praktash interrupted with a grin. ”You're not goin' anywhere 'til this is over.”  
  
Záhovar gave up on finding Sulmurz and decided to take care of another errand instead. She knocked on the door which she believed belonged to Kirân's room. ”Kirân?”  
”Yes, my lord?” came the call from within.  
”I would speak with you about what happened on the battlements.”  
As Záhovar opened the door, Kirân put down the book she had been reading. ”I told father what happened.”  
”And Praktash told me,” Záhovar said. ”I did not come to pick through your disagreements, which you are entitled to, but know this; you tread on dangerous ground. Uruks are not mere tools to be used and discarded, no more so than regular Orcs. Gîrakûn will no doubt tell you otherwise and like me, she has her reasons. Whatever stance you choose to take on the matter, I suggest you prepare to defend it.”  
Záhovar had expected an outburst, but Kirân only gave her a smile that was far more confident than she had previously given her credit for. ”I didn't come this far just to let one crazy minion turn me away. I don't know what you told father to make him change his mind about my going to the Academy, but whatever it was, I'll remember it. He even gave me my drawings back.” She gestured towards a wooden scrollcase on the desk. ”Do you want to see?”  
”I do.” Záhovar watched as Kirân opened the scrollcase and pulled out a roll of parchment. As she spread it out, a detailed drawing of a strange device was revealed along with complex calculations for various parts of its construction.  
”This is a siege weapon I've been working on,” Kirân explained. ”You know how catapults work, right? How the firing arm is pulled down and the ammunition is fired by releasing the tension? It's all well and good, but you need long beams of the right type of wood to construct them, and they often break. This construction will bypass that problem. I got the idea from the pole-wells they use in Rhûn; you'll probably see them on your way north, long poles with a weight in one end, a long rope and a bucket in the other. Like them, this pole pivots around a central fastening point and has a weight in one end. The other has a sling where you place the ammunition.”  
”The counterweight must be much heavier than the ammunition if it is to function properly,” Záhovar commented. ”How will you load it?”  
”Well...” Kiràn smiled sheepishly. ”I haven't figured out all the details yet. But with the resources and knowledge of the Academy at my disposal, I'm sure I could make it work!”  
”Without a doubt,” Záhovar said.  
”So... You're leaving now?”  
”I am. Perhaps we shall meet again some night.”  
”I hope so! You could always come to Blog Shakâmb and visit me, if you have the time. Or write a letter, or... something.”  
”Perhaps I will, at that,” Záhovar replied. _Hopefully that visit will end on a better note than the last._   
  
”I think I need soap,” Sulmurz muttered with a disturbed expression as Graznikh joined the others in the northern courtyard.  
”What for?” Zosh asked.  
”My bleedin' _eyes!_ ”  
”It's not like ya haven't seen a cock before,” Graznikh snickered.  
”Seen one, seen 'em all! That doesn't make me want to see more.”  
”Oho. Judging by what _I_ saw...”  
”Shaddap!”  
”...I'd wager ya wanted to see _more..._ ”  
”I said shut the fuck up!!”  
”...And enjoyed every little glimpse you caught!”  
Sulmurz roared and started hitting him. Graznikh only laughed and blocked his blows until he had had enough.   
”Dont'cha look smug as all fuck,” Margzat commented as Praktash joined the uzhâk. ”What've ya been up to now?”  
”Nothin' special really, just found out some stuff that I might put to use later, if lord Záhovar permits.” He twitched a little as Margzat pinched his butt. ”Hey, mind the claws!”  
”Izzat so?” Margzat caught him again as he tried to leave and used both hands to grope him thoroughly.  
”What the _fuck, '_ Zat?!” Praktash exclaimed while trying to keep himself from squeaking as the krîtar's claws tickled him. ”Not out here!”  
”Nar? Why not, Bukrazikh?” Praktash's eyes widened as Ghrazagh, Lîrnash and Golnauk surrounded him and suddenly there were clawed, heavy hands all over his body.   
”So ya wanna play with others, hmm?” Golnauk growled in his ear.  
”Might wanna rethink that,” Lîrnash murmured and bit his neck.  
”Either ya run with the pack or ya don't,” Ghrazagh growled and ran his claws down his back. ”Make up yer mind, Bukrazikh!”  
Praktash tried to wriggle away, but they were crowding him and Margzat blocked his path forward. The krîtar was no longer smiling, but staring into his eyes with such intensity that he could not look away. He kept making that sound that he always made after they had fucked; a low, thrumming sound half-way between a growl and a purr. It always made him feel safe, but here? Now? Now it was an open display of dominance. _Is he challengin' me?!_  
Graznikh suddenly noticed what was going on. ”Hey!!” He started towards the Uruks, but Záhovar walked in with Dâurinzil and a young tark who could only be Kirân in tow before he reached them.  
”Form up!” she snapped. The Uruks immediately let Praktash go and he took the opportunity to stomp away, but not before throwing Margzat a scandalised glower.  
”Ya sure 'bout this?” Margzat grunted quietly to Golnauk.   
The older Uruk bared his fangs. ”He'll come around.”  
  
Meanwhile, Sulmurz and Kraash were busy eyeballing Kirân.  
”Skai, krûrbatur kasnogishi!” Kraash exclaimed while undressing her with his eyes. Sulmurz nodded and leered as she happened to look in their direction. She scowled with disgust and discomfort and hid behind Dâurinzil. A combined glance from him and Záhovar made the Orcs back away.   
Graznikh shuddered. ”You two're sick. A tark? Completely bloody sick.”  
”Says the guy who rammed one back in-” Kraash began but promptly fell quiet when Graznikh elbowed him in the face. At the snap of Dâurinzil's fingers, the stable hands brought out a group of hard-footed beasts from the nearby stable.  
”I _knew_ it,” Graznikh muttered.  
”...Horses?” Praktash asked.  
”Yup.”   
Praktash swallowed, the bedtime stories Graznikh had told him about horses fresh in his mind. ”But... I don't know how to ride.”  
”Don'tcha worry Bukrazikh,” Margzat rumbled with a grin. ”I'm thinkin' ya do.”  
”Ha. Ha ha. Very funny.” Praktash gave the horses an apprehensive look. There were five of them, four sturdy rouncies and a courser of finer stock for Záhovar. Leashed near the other end of the courtyard were Akûl and four other wargs; one each for Sulmurz, Kraash and Ghakû, while Zosh and Mikbork would share.  
”You will not ride,” Záhovar told Praktash. ”These are pack horses; we will be moving at speed, and they will carry the luggage to keep the rest of you light on your feet.”  
Sulmurz hesitantly walked up to Záhovar and whispered something unintelligible to her.  
”Speak up,” Záhovar told him.  
”Err... Right. Was wondering if... if...”  
”If this is another complaint about the choice of mounts...”  
”Nar! Nar, sure isn't! Was just thinking... Um... Well, if the Uruk doesn't wanna go near 'em... then maybe I could... have a horse instead? And care for 'em in turn?” The last two sentences he whispered, but not quietly enough. He seemed to shrink as everyone turned to stare at him.  
Graznikh cocked his head. ”You're not serious.”  
Sulmurz straightened up a little. ”Yeah... Yeah, I am.” He shrank again as Graznikh slowly walked closer, straightening up until he was looking down at him.  
”Where did you learn to ride horses?” he asked quietly. ”And why the fuck did ya keep shut 'bout it? And _don't_ tell me you learned that in the Desolation!” he snapped as Sulmurz opened his mouth. The smaller Orc's eyes darted about in panic, searching for a way out.  
”Leave it.”  
Graznikh gave Záhovar an incredulous look. ”What?”  
”Leave it,” she repeated in a voice that brooked no protest. ”Sulmurz will take a horse, his warg will return to Nurza Shûk and I will hear no complaints about saddle sores.”  
Graznikh broke eye contact just in time to not seem insubordinant. _Where the fuck did he learn to ride?_ he wondered as he walked towards Akûl. _Orcs don't ride horses._ He remembered the pack ponies that old Kurrush had used for his trading trips, but that was different. _He never rode 'em, just dragged 'em along wherever he went. That bastard's hiding something, I can smell it._ He threw a look at Zosh and Mikbork, who were trying to get friendly with their warg. It was a docile creature, too docile to be used in battle. Such wargs were rarely killed, but saved for other uses. But still...  
”That's not a bloody pet,” Graznikh growled as Zosh tried to pet the warg's snout.  
”Oh shaddap ya big oaf,” she snapped and cooed at the warg. The warg gave her an insulted look and hid its head in its bushy tail.

In the meantime, Sulmurz was closing in on the pack horses. They snorted and pinned their ears; despite having spent years in the vicinity of Orcs, they had never been handled by one and were obviously not enthusiastic about it.  
”Five tokens says he gets kicked in the head,” Kraash muttered.  
”You're on,” Lîrnash replied before he realised that he was talking to a snaga.  
”Easy girl,” Sulmurz murmured as he inched closer to the lead horse. ”Easy there...” As the horse snorted and raised its head, he stood still. One of the Uruks snickered. Once the horse lowered it again, he stepped forward. He continued to do so for quite some time, moving forward when the horse relaxed and holding his ground when it tensed and little by little, the distance between them closed. Kraash let out a loud curse as the horse reached out and sniffed Sulmurz's hand and then his face. A brief while later, Sulmurz could hold onto the halter and rub its muzzle with his knuckles.  
”See there?” he murmured to it. ”'S not so bad after all, izzit?” The horse let out a despondent sigh.  
”Ya gotta be fuckin' joking,” Kraash groaned. ”Hey, watch it!” he snarled as Lîrnash demanded his share. ”Northing says he won't get kicked later! Fuck off!!”  
Ghrazagh and Golnauk appeared at Lîrnash's side, silently backing their packmate. Kraash grumbled as he handed the money over. After a short briefing with Záhovar, Margzat gave the order to form up. Since Sulmurz was in charge of the pack horses, everyone else simply dumped whatever they had no immediate use for in a pile nearby.  
”The fuck?!” he exclaimed. ”Am I alone here? I'm not gonna do all the packing myself!!”  
The Uruks only grinned at the snaga's antics, but Sulmurz soon had his whip out and tore into Kraash and Ghakû. ”You'll gimme a hand or five here, or I'll make ya pay for it!”  
They tried to gang up on him like the Uruks had done to Kraash, but Graznikh just happened to saunter by and stop beside Sulmurz. He gave the two Orcs a look. ”What?”  
Kraash and Ghakû immediately decided that this was not worth getting killed for and grudgingly began to shove stuff into the panniers.  
”Thanks pal,” Sulmurz hissed before going over to make sure the weight was evenly distributed and that no hard edges would gnaw holes in the horses' sides on the road.

”He's hiding something,” Graznikh told Záhovar as they watched the organised chaos in the courtyard.  
”Of course he is,” Záhovar replied, ”but there will be plenty of time to find out what and why on the road.”  
”What if he's a spy?”  
”Do not be foolish. He could be many things, but not a spy. He is too open and easy to read.”  
”Says the one who didn't know how to read people not too long ago.”  
”Mind your tongue, Orc.”   
”Mind your... eh, never mind.” He looked towards the gate. Far beyond it, to the north, a hazy shadow could be seen. ”Looks like it's gonna rain. Clouds're gathering.”  
”It may,” Záhovar replied. ”And it may not. What you see is the Eastern Desolation.”  
”...Wonderful. Lemme guess; we're going there?”  
”Only in passing. The road to Rhûn leads through the outskirts.”  
”Outskirts of _what?_ ”  
Záhovar smirked. ”You will see.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Krûrbatur kasnogishi – finger/poke me in the ear


	4. Should Your Wishes Come True

The Eastern Desolation was located east of the Mithram spur and north of Ruzh Moraut, bordered to the south by the Lithlad region and to the north by the Ash Mountains. It was the most dangerous region in all of the Black Land, completely untamed and avoided by all save the Black Uruks, who were sometimes sent there for exercise purposes. Despite its name, it was not a barren wasteland but covered with lush vegetation. Damp air from the sea of Nurnen was brought north by the wind, caught by the mountains and cooled as they rose, causing heavy rainfalls that fed the two largest rivers in the Black Land. From the Burning Mountain came ashes that fertilised the ground. This continuous cycle of wind, ash and rain had spawned a unique ecosystem found nowhere else; a dense rainforest that formed a nearly impenetrable barrier to the northeast save for a single road leading north past the eastern end of the Ash Mountains.  
Logging operations were in place along the outskirts but were made exceedingly difficult by the ferocious wildlife, from badgers and butterflies to larger, unnamed beasts. And like in most of the Black Land, many of the plants were either poisonous, thorny or had other uncomfortable and often deadly surprises for the unwary traveler.   
The main bodies of water were the rivers Pau Oghor, which passed Ruzh Moraut, and the larger and deeper Pau Bolgurz which sprung up deep within the Mithram Spur. The iron-rich mountains coloured the river red as tark blood, hence its name. The only road other than the one to Rhûn was that which connected Ruzh Moraut and Blog Shakâmb. A smaller mountain spur jutted off from the Mithram and into the heart of the Desolation, covered with gnarly, tortured trees that few had ever laid eyes upon and even fewer had returned to speak about. No one truly knew what lived in those woods and few bothered to find out. It was simply too dangerous.  
  
”Just imagine,” Praktash said as they camped for the day on a tree-covered ridge overlooking the Oghor river valley just before the road turned eastward. ”I could have the ingredients for the best booze ever to be made in there, an' I'll never get my hands on 'em 'cause of those bloody fluttershies!”  
”It's 'butterflies',” Graznikh corrected and cursed as he lost hold of a string and caused Záhovar's tent to collapse for the second time. ”Hey, snaga! Get over here and gimme all o' your hands.” Zosh and Mikbork grabbed a string each and a few barked instructions later the tent finally remained upright.   
”Yeah, whatever,” Praktash said without taking his eyes off the forest on the other side of the river. ”I could _kill_ for a chance to experiment with some o' the stuff in there!”  
”Kill? You?” Mûrnaluzh snorted. ”I'd like to see that.”  
”Not today,” Praktash murmured as he stretched. ”Hey, 'Zat! Where's the food?”  
”Nowhere unless ya stop yappin' 'bout it. Get in line like the rest.”  
”Aww, but 'Zaaaaat!”  
”Nar, not 'Zaaat'. Anyway, it's done now.”  
Praktash dove for his bowl and held it out, but Ghrazagh shoved him hard in the chest and made him stagger several steps back. ”What the fuck..?”  
”Ya heard the krîtar,” Ghrazagh growled. ”Get in line!”  
”You really want me behind ya?” Praktash purred, but he could not fully suppress a little spark of insecurity.  
”Ya won't be behind me,” Ghrazagh chuckled and nodded towards the far end of camp. ”End o' the line, Bukrazikh.”  
Praktash knew that there was no backing out of this and cursed himself for not figuring things out sooner. With three new members the pack structure had been upheaved; of course some would try to climb or solidify their current position within the hierarchy. Being a wild card with no clear place, he was a prime target. As Ghrazagh crouched and began to growl menacingly, Praktash remembered the only time they had fought before, on the road to Blog Shakâmb all those months ago. That would have ended badly if Margzat had not intervened, and this time Margzat wanted him to fight. He doubted that the krîtar would step in to save his arse if things went to the pits. _But Záhovar won't allow them to put me outta business, an' maybe Graznikh would..._   
Suddenly they were distracted by a furious bellow. Urkhish and Draumaturz had decided to straighten things out and were fighting like mad. Ghrazagh was busy staring at them and praktash decided not to waste an opportunity; he spun and used the momentum to plant his foot in his chest, toppling him over. Ghrazagh roared with fury and rolled to his feet, but before he could pounce Praktash, Urkhish and Draumaturz broke their fight unexpectedly and jumped him instead. Lîrnash tried to intervene to help Ghrazagh and the whole thing might have become very ugly indeed if Margzat and Mûrnaluzh had not decided that they had had enough of pack antics and split them up. Urkhish staggered backwards and pulled Praktash out with him. Praktash turned on him, thinking it was another attack, but Urkhish only grinned.  
”Quit it, I'm not gonna fight ya,” he said as he let go, blood trickling from his broken lip and a gash on his chin.  
”Fucking idiot,” Draumaturz growled at Ghrazagh as he backed away from the krîtar's whip and ended up on Praktash's other side. ”You don't go messin' with the one who'll patch ya up after the fight! Every cub knows that.”  
Ghrazagh snorted and smeared out the blood on his clawed-up arm in a gesture that said 'I don't need patching up'. Then he leered a little and threw Margzat a strange look before backing off.  
Praktash frowned. _The fuck was that about? Did he set this up or somethin'?_  
”I hope nobody kicked the food out,” Urkhish muttered. ”I'm starving.”   
Draumaturz nodded and gave Praktash a colluding grin. ”Ya coming?”  
Praktash looked for his bowl and groaned when he found it broken in half. ”Guess I'll be suckin' it up from my hands from now on.”  
Urkhish shrugged. ”Nar, take mine. _After_ I'm done with it. And no lickin'!”  
”Like you haven't licked some nasty stuff in yer time,” Draumaturz snickered and grunted as Urkhish punched him.  
”That was different!”  
”Sure, sure...”  
”Do I wanna know?” Praktash asked.  
Draumaturz gave him a friendly grin. ”Maybe. But that's not my place to tell ya about.”  
Praktash shrugged, but could not help but be a little curious.  
  
”That was some quick thinking right there,” Graznikh commented. He and the other Orcs had been watching the fight with varying levels of interest, as had Záhovar.  
”Explain,” she said; it was more of a command than a request.  
”Praktash's crap at brawling,” Graznikh explained in a hushed voice. ”I'd wager Urkhish knows that, or maybe it was the new guy's idea. So they fake a fight to distract Ghrazagh, then jump him both at once to pull Lîrnash in. That got the krîtar in the game'n Praktash outta it. Then they tell everyone who cares to watch whose side they're on without using a single word. Pretty little scheme.”  
”Ghrazagh's challenge makes little sense; if he is on the krîtar's side, why would he attack Praktash and upset him?”  
Graznikh shrugged; that was something he wondered about too. ”Could be a setup as well.”  
”That seems like an unusually complicated plot.”  
He glanced at her with a lopsided grin. ”Didn't expect us to be able to plot'n scheme like Officers, did ya?”  
”I... stand corrected, I suppose.”  
”Ya won't let him kill himself if he gets too tangled up, right? Can I step in if that happens?”  
Záhovar nodded.  
  
Zosh was terrified of Záhovar's horse and no amount of threats or coaxing would get her close enough to tend to its needs. In turn the horse was terrified of Graznikh and tried to kick him every time he got close. Not even Sulmurz was let near, so the High Officer had deigned to care for it herself. The pack horses were picketed nearby. A scuffle broke out in the warg pack and Graznikh snorted disdainfully as the horse reared with a terrified shriek.  
”Bloody twitchy nags. Shoulda picked a warg like the rest of us.”  
”Officers'n Uruks don't ride wargs,” Margzat rumbled. ”Those're snaga mounts.”   
”Why would Uruks ride at all?” Praktash asked. ”I think we've done fine without 'em so far.”  
”Come back'n tell us that after we reach th' plains,” Golnauk chuckled.  
Praktash shrugged; he was not in the mood to argue. Instead he leaned back against a rock in the shade of the large outcropping and watched the river. The surface seemed calm, but looks could be deceiving. Just as he drifted off to sleep, he saw something move underneath the surface. Something _big._ He sat up straight with wide eyes. ”What the fuck..?”  
”Hnh?” Graznikh grunted. ”What izzit?”  
”There,” Praktash pointed. ”Near the other side. I can't quite... Oh fuck..!”  
Before their eyes, the surface moved as if an unknown number of great snakes swam just beneath it, followed by a larger body. A deep rumble made the water tremble briefly, then all was still again.  
”What..?”   
”Rrright,” Graznikh muttered. ”That was no fish.”  
”What the fuck _was_ that?” Sulmurz asked. ”That thing was bloody huge!”  
”There are many unknown creatures dwelling in the deep waters of the world,” Záhovar said, but she did look mildly concerned.  
”Th' corsairs call it 'Crackin' or something like 'at,” Golnauk said. ”Probably got it from the sound their boats make as they hit it. I'm guessin' they'll lose a few down in Nurnen soon.”  
”Hold on... Those things're in the _sea_ as well?!” Graznikh asked.  
”Aye.”  
”That's it then; I'm walking back the next time!”  
”Mind some company?” Sulmurz asked. ”I'm of a mind to do the same.” Mikbork and Zosh nodded enthusiastically.  
”That can be discussed once we are actually in a position to do so,” Záhovar said. ”For example when the mission is over, successful, and we stand here on the way back.” With that, she retreated to her tent.  
Graznikh noticed Praktash looking expectantly at him. ”What?”  
The Uruk nodded towards the High Officer's tent. Graznikh gave it an apprehensive glance and took a step towards Praktash, but he shook his head and nodded towards the tent again with an encouraging smile. Graznikh gave him a helpless look and shook his head. Praktash frowned and beckoned for him to come closer.  
”Why not?” he whispered as Graznikh crawled into bed next to him.  
”I just... need some time.”  
”Time? You were fine back in Ruzh Moraut! Why not now?”  
”I know! It's just...” Graznikh sighed as he rested his head against his buddy's shoulder. ”I'm scared.”  
”Scared? You?”  
”Yeah, me! Everything just feels weird, it's like I don't know her anymore.”  
”The longer ya wait, the harder it'll get.”  
”I know, I'll talk to her. Just... not tonight.”  
”Promise?” Praktash poked Graznikh a little when he did not reply.  
”Alright, alright, I promise! Now lay off it, I'm trying to sleep.”  
Praktash chuckled as he pushed Graznikh over a little rougher than intended. Graznikh retaliated by grabbing his arm and yanking him down on top of him. A minor struggle ensued until they were both in comfortable spooning position.  
”Y'know what I miss?” Praktash whispered.  
”Mmhm?” Graznikh murmured.  
”Lyin' like this with her between us. I keep feelin' like somethin's missin' when we're split apart like this.”  
Graznikh opened his eyes with a sad frown. ”Yeah, me too.” The scent of rain reached his nostrils and he looked up. ”Well, bugger me. I was right. It's gonna-”  
  
The rain hit the roof of the tent so hard that it collapsed. It was as though some cruel higher power had decided that this particular spot was the perfect place for a waterfall and could not care less for whatever damage it caused. Panicked howls were heard from the others as they tried to disentangle themselves from their soaked tents while avoiding death by drowning on until recently dry land. Graznikh and Praktash did the same and ran for the relative safety of the forest.  
”Bit o' a downpour, eh?” Sulmurz snickered as they stumbled in beneath the tree where he sat. He was almost completely dry; the huge crown with its large leaves had shielded him and the horses from the airborne flash flood. Graznikh and Praktash shared a glance.  
”Didn't I tell you you needed to bathe?” Praktash asked in an exasperated tone. Sulmurz jumped to his feet but they were too fast; after a wild fight they carried the struggling Orc by his arms and legs over to the edge of where the canopy sheltered from the rain.   
”Nar! NAR!!” Sulmurz roared as they swung him back and forth, but the rain stopped as abruptly as it had begun the moment they let go, so the only part of him that got wet was his behind when he landed in a muddy puddle.  
”Aww!” Praktash exclaimed with a thoroughly disappointed pout.  
”Typical,” Graznikh muttered and glanced at the treacherous clouds. ”Better luck next time, I guess.”  
”What the fucking fuck is wrong with ya?!” Sulmurz snarled as he tried to get up. He fell back down into the mud once before giving up on walking and crawled back to dry land on all fours instead. ”It's not my bloody fault that it's rainin'!”  
”What? You _did_ need a bath!” Praktash chuckled. Then he sniffed the air and winced. ”Didn't help though. You stink even worse than before. I thought mud was supposed to be good for ya!”  
”And whose bloody fault is _that_?!”  
They continued to argue, but Graznikh forgot to keep an eye on them as Záhovar appeared, as soaked as the rest of them. She gave Praktash a cold, hard look and he immediately stopped shouting insults at Sulmurz.  
”I'll... I'll go wring out the bedrolls,” he said quietly before leaving.  
”Yeah, you _do_ that, ya sick fuck,” Sulmurz snarled and spat after him.  
”This begins well,” Záhovar said dryly as she wrung her hair.  
”Tell me 'bout it,” Margzat muttered as he emptied his boot. ”If this keeps up, I'mma start rustin'.”  
”See that you do not,” Záhovar said. ”The last thing we need is an Uruk that squeaks like an ungreased wheel.” A few of the Uruks snickered at that until Margzat pointed out that it applied to all of them.  
  
”How the fuck're we supposed to sleep in this?” Praktash asked when he returned with the bedrolls. ”Doesn't matter how much I wring 'em, they're still wet.”  
”Welcome to th' Desolation,” Mûrnaluzh grinned. ”Good ol' times, eh Ghrazagh?”  
Ghrazagh made an obscene gesture at him while wrapping himself and Lîrnash up in their tent cloth.  
”So you were in the Desolation together?” Praktash asked.  
”Not by any choice o' mine,” Ghrazagh grunted. ”Don't listen to that backstabbing bastard.”  
”So which squad were you in?” Mûrnaluzh asked.  
”Who, me?” Praktash asked and cursed inside when Mûrna nodded. ”Can't be expected to remember everythin', now can I?”  
”'At first time's pretty memorable,” Gîmtog commented. ”Sticks with ya, as it were.”  
”Well, it didn't stick with me.”  
”Speaking o' sticks... Bit o' an odd weapon for a guy from the shock troops,” Drôturz commented with a nod towards his dire mace.  
”I heard he likes sticks,” Mûrnaluzh said. ”'Specially when others stick it to him.” That elicited a few laughs from the others and Mûrnaluzh turned to Margzat. ”What was it ya called it, krîtar? Tooth-pick? How's that a weapon for a decent soldier?”  
”A decent soldier doesn't need a weapon,” Margzat rumbled. ”If ya were cut out for th' job you'd know that.”  
Mûrnaluzh shrugged and laid down next to Drôturz. ”Guess some folks like 'em small.”  
Margzat froze. Then he glanced at Mûrna with a dangerous leer. ”Comparin' size, are we? Ya really wanna go down like 'at?” He began to growl when Mûrna did not reply and after a few moments there came a muffled ”nar” from him.  
”I wanna go down like that,” Praktash murmured breathlessly, making Margzat chuckle.  
”'Course ya do, Bukrazikh.”  
  
Despite wet bedrolls, the Orcs and Uruks managed to get some sleep at long last. Sulmurz had surrendered his bedroll to Záhovar when she found out that it was the only dry one left and had rolled himself up in one of the blankets used to cushion the horses' pack saddles. Praktash had nicked a few for himself, Graznikh and Margzat. Zosh and Mikbork had taken the last one and escaped up onto the lowest branches of the tree, well out of reach from greedy 'big ones'. The tree shielded them from the sun as well, so they woke up well rested the next evening. Margzat made breakfast and floored Drôturz with his ladle when the newcomer refused to stop snickering at 'cooking krîtar'. Once Drôturz woke up and managed to stand on his own, they set out again.   
Graznikh coordinated the scouting with Mikbork and Urkhish, who turned out to be quite adept at stealth and tracking. The quiet Uruk archer no longer had any problems with taking orders from a 'snaga' and recieved a lot of scorn about it. When Graznikh asked him about it, he said that he had been around long enough to see where the wits had gathered. Graznikh did not know what to think about that, but Urkhish did as told without complaint and refrained from showing attitude even towards Mikbork, so Graznikh decided to take his word for what it was.  
  
  
On the third day, Záhovar halted her horse along the rocky road and frowned. They had been traveling for a few hours when she began to feel watched. Every time she discreetly tried to look over her shoulder, but saw nothing. At first she had blamed it on her vivid imagination, but the more time passed, the more convinced she became that there was more to it.  
Graznikh suddenly appeared at her side. ”We're being followed,” he reported.  
”I suspected as much. By what?”  
”Not sure yet. I'll keep looking.”  
”Will you be able to keep an eye on whatever it is?”  
”'Will I be able'...” he chuckled. ”Sure, I will, once I spot it.” Then he noticed her cold glare and felt an unexpected chill run down his spine. ”I didn't mean... I, err... I'll just go. Right? Right.”  
As Akûl turned and carried him away from the group, Graznikh tried to figure out what had just happened. _She's never looked at me like that before. Or has she, only I didn't notice it? I sure as fuck never_ felt _like that before._ _Is this why Sulmurz always acts the way he does around her? But why would she look at_ me _like that?_ Graznikh suddenly felt a lot less sure about himself, as if that one look had somehow made him grow smaller and leeched his confidence. It was not at all to his liking, and he decided to try to talk to her about it later. _But now I've a spy to catch.  
_ He sniffed the air to try to catch the spy's scent, but with no luck. Akûl crouched low as they approached the spot where they had last seen it, but now it was empty. The warg searched the area and eventually caught a faint trail leading in the same direction as the group traveled. _This fucker sure moves fast,_ Graznikh thought as they followed it. _And on foot?_  
They continued on for some time, following the trail through the undergrowth along the road, all senses on edge. It grew ever fainter and eventually Akûl lost it entirely in a small clearing. Graznikh dismounted and as the warg searched the perimeter, he looked up at the trees. They seemed strange, wrong somehow, their trunks and branches twisted and gnarly. The moss was saturated with water, yet there was no trace of their quarry. _Not even a footprint. Must be a wraith, or something on wings._ He was just about to call Akûl back when he caught a movement in the corner of his eye. The darkness between the trees was no darkness at all.  
”Oh fuck..!” he breathed.

Graznikh's frantic yell split the night air, accompanied by Akûl's howling roar.  
”GRAZ!!” Praktash bellowed and dashed into the forest before anyone could stop him.  
”Bukra!!” Margzat roared and made a move to follow him before he stopped himself and looked to Záhovar for direction.  
”Mûrnaluzh, Ghrazagh, Golnauk! Go after him!” Záhovar shouted while struggling to keep her horse from bolting. ”Not you,” she said as she met Margzat's eyes. ”I need you here in case this is a diversion.” He turned away and stomped his foot with a frustrated growl. Then he joined her in staring into the shadows with an equally worried expression.  
Praktash had to slow down when the undergrowth became too thick and used his mace to break branches and tear away vines. He was vaguely aware of the others following him, but he did not care. He was blind to all but that horrible scream that still echoed in his head.  
Suddenly a battered and bruised Graznikh appeared in the nightly gloom ahead, staggering and gasping as if he had been running like crazy. He gave Praktash a haunted, feral look at first but as he recognised him he let out a dry sob. He fell to his knees as Praktash reached him.  
”I'm fine, I'm fine, buddy, I'm fine,” he muttered as Praktash broke down in tears. ”Keep yerself together buddy, we're not outta here yet.”  
”What happened?” Praktash asked as he fought to regain control.  
Graznikh shook his head. ”No time to talk, we gotta get outta here. Get outta here!” he called to the other Uruks as they appeared. ”Leg it before it comes back!” They turned and hurried back the way they had come. Graznikh had twisted his ankle but managed to keep a decent pace with Praktash's support.

When they reached the road, Záhovar dismounted and came to meet them with Margzat close behind. Graznikh expected a reprimand for failing his task so brutally, but least of all he expected Záhovar's response. She stopped right in front of him and touched the tears in his clothing and the dents in his armour, eventually placing a hand on the side of his neck and one on his cheek. Then she kissed him briefly. Suddenly Graznikh was no longer afraid; all was good and right in the world and even the pain was far away. He could care less that Sulmurz and Ghakû stared, mouths open and eyes bulging, or that Kraash was making vomiting noises. Tentatively he placed an arm around her armoured waist and his insides fluttered a little when she did not protest. Then he pressed his forehead against hers.  
”Thought I was a goner there for a moment...”  
”But you are not.”  
”Nar, I'm not... Woulda missed ya too much.” He caught a brief flicker of emotion in her eyes. ”I'm sorry for-”  
He immediately fell quiet as she pressed a finger to his lips. ”You need not say. It is in the past now.”  
Graznikh's eyes widened a little. ”For real?”  
Záhovar nodded. ”Now we look ahead.”  
”Great, enough of the schmoozing!” Kraash exclaimed right next to them. Graznikh gave Záhovar an exasperated look and cracked his knuckles but she held up a hand to stop him. Then she turned to Kraash. ”Perhaps I should take my old mentor up on her offer and send you to her. Void knows you could do with some correction.”  
”I sure do,” Kraash purred in her face and grabbed his package. ”This shit's a little hard; care to soften it for me?”  
Záhovar's answer was an armoured knee brought up hard against said package. Kraash wheezed as he fell to the ground, his face completely white, and all the Orcs except one winced.  
”Way to go!” Zosh chirped. ”I can see why she's the boss.”

Meanwhile, Margzat dragged Praktash into the uzhâk. There he held him by the shoulders so hard that it hurt and shook him with a furious growl.  
”Ya don't leave the pack,” Margzat growled. ”Not without orders! Ya don't break the line an' ya don't fuckin' bolt! Izzat clear, Bukrazikh?!”   
”I don't care 'bout your bloody line! My buddy almost died out there!!”  
”'At doesn't fuckin' matter! Next time ya stay the fuck here, an'-”  
Praktash pulled himself free and shoved Margzat hard in the chest. ”Fuck you, I'm not part of your bloody pack! I go wherever the fuck I want, you don't own me!”  
The krîtar's growl was like a thunderclap as he advanced. Once, Praktash might have been afraid. Once he might have run as the pack ganged up on him. Not so now; he was too pumped up on adrenaline to cower. Instead he answered the much larger Uruk's challenge with a battle roar of his own and rammed into him chest first. He did not back down when his feet skidded backwards as Margzat backed him up, nor as his clawless punches went largely ignored. He kept growling as the krîtar caught his wrists and bent his arms painfully behind his back. He kept growling as he was slowly crushed against a large tree trunk. Praktash did not care; he was ready to die for this.  
Margzat's growl slowly faded and he gave him an odd look. Then he grinned and began to chuckle. The chuckle slowly grew into all out laughter and the giant Black Uruk backed away, roaring with laughter. Praktash took the opportunity to shove him so hard that he fell over, but even then Margzat did not stop laughing.  
”What the fuck is wrong with ya?!” Praktash roared.  
”You've got some fuckin' spunk, Bukrazikh!” Margzat exclaimed as he got back on his feet. ”Ye're gonna bloody fight _me_?”  
”You're bloody right I will!” Praktash pounced him but Margzat was ready and caught him in a bear hug. Before he knew it, the krîtar had him by the fangs and filled his mouth with tongue and tingling purrs. Praktash felt his knees turn to jelly as sharp claws pricked his unprotected back. _'Zat, you fuckin' bastard! I don't wanna be this mushy-brained for ya!_ The fact that some of the other Uruks were all leering as though their krîtar would begin passing him around at any moment did not improve the situation... much.  
”Are they always like that?” Draumaturz asked Grazagh with a nod towards Margzat and Praktash.  
Ghrazagh shrugged. ”Lug-snaga's got different rules, by the looks of it.”  
Mûrnaluzh, Gimtog and Drôturz stood some distance away and kept throwing disgusted looks at them.  
  
”Where is Akûl?” Záhovar asked as Graznikh sat down to remove his boot.  
Graznikh shook his head with a worried frown. ”No idea. He attacked the thing what went after me and when I got up they were both gone.” He stopped trying to pull it off with a pained wince. ”Skai... I don't wanna lose him too! Losin' Zuzar was bad enough.”  
”Perhaps he managed to escape and is simply lost. Have the wargs call for him.”  
”Yeah... Skai!”   
”Can you describe the creature that attacked you?”  
Graznikh frowned. ”T'was the biggest warg I've ever seen, or at least I think it was. Way bigger than ours. Black fur, red eyes, and it walked upright, that's the queerest thing 'bout it.”  
Záhovar frowned in confusion. ”Upright? On two legs?”  
”Yeah... Or it did at first. Then it sent me flying and when I got back up, both it and Akûl were gone. I was too busy runnin' after that.” He groaned as he finally managed to pull the boot off. His ankle was swollen and dark grey, but it did not feel broken. ”Skai... woulda bloody needed my warg now.”  
  
As the rest of the warg pack began to howl to call their lost pack member back, Záhovar went over to the Uruks. ”Krîtar?”  
Margzat had not heard her come and shoved Praktash away so hard that he rolled twice before stopping.  
”Will you stop bein' an idiot?!” Praktash exclaimed once the world stopped spinning. ”It's just Záhovar, not the bloody Eye!”  
Záhovar gave them both an approving little smirk before turning to Praktash. ”Take a look at Graznikh's foot,” she ordered him. ”It would seem that we are slowed sooner than anticipated.”  
”Nar, I'll be back on my feet in a few nights,” Graznikh called.  
”Not with that foot you're not,” Praktash commented after a glance.  
”In that case, he will ride behind Sulmurz,” Záhovar replied.  
”What?! Ah, fuck... Shut up, you!” he growled at the snickering Sulmurz. Mikbork quietly told the confused Zosh about Graznikh's accidental mounted detour. The Uruks eavesdropped while trying to look like they had no interest whatsoever in the doings of snagas. That utterly failed as several of them started laughing when Mikbork gave a vivid description of Graznikh's ruined legs. Graznikh himself stoically fielded the barrage of jeers and mirth that followed.  
”You too, buddy?” he asked as Praktash snorted and bit his lip. The Uruk healer rapidly shook his head while doing his best not to explode.

 

The sun was well above the horizon when Akûl finally returned. The warg was limping badly and looked as though he had been overrun by a herd of horses with claws instead of hooves; he had scratches everywhere and the skin had been peeled off his haunch in a large chunk that Praktash had to sew back into place with great care. Graznikh tried to find out more about the beast that had attacked them, but Akûl had seen little more than he had.  
”Red eyes, black fur... I wonder if that's what's been following us?” Urkhish wondered out loud. Záhovar was sceptical, but had no better explanation.  
”Whatever it is, we should go a little further away from it before making camp. The trees will shield us from the worst of the sunlight.”  
There was much cursing and sweating for the next toll. Akûl was in no condition to be ridden any time soon and Graznikh was in no condition to walk, but he was strongly disinclined to ride the pack horses. He protested long enough to make even Margzat lose his patience. The giant Uruk eventually walked up to him, lifted him onto the nervous horse's back and saluted Záhovar without a word before stomping off and barking at his uzhâk to leg it. Graznikh shot the other Orcs a murderous look; they were desperately choking back laughter and succeeding only barely. Kraash was sobbing into his warg's fur.  
Eventually they found a decent place to stop for the day. Margzat doubled the amount of day-guards from two to four and had Urkhish secure the surroundings before allowing himself to relax. Akûl was worse off than Praktash had first assumed and the healer eventually told Graznikh that it would take more than a few days' rest if he was to fully recover.  
”If he keeps runnin' about, the skin'll never stick to what's beneath,” he explained. ”The best'd be if he could lay still for a while, but I guess that's too much to ask for.”  
”Rezhdatikh,” Akûl growled.   
”Didn't say you would,” Praktash replied. ”But you can't well run or fight like this, can ya?”  
Graznikh sighed and looked up at Záhovar with pleading eyes. ”If ya tell me to, I'll send him back.” _Please don't._  
Záhovar opened her mouth to speak, but Ghakû interrupted her. ”Say, uh, master..? Got a thought, if ya care.” Záhovar bent down to listen to the old Orc's whispers. Soon she was smiling.  
”Might solve this little tangle,” Ghakû said with a leer.  
Záhovar turned to Graznikh. ”I will not have you send him off.” Then she turned to Margzat. ”There are trees all around us; make use of them. Find two straight trunks, thick as an Uruk's wrist and long as two of you. Cut them down and trim the branches off.”  
Margzat saluted and began barking orders.  
”What're ya planning?” Graznikh asked.   
When the Uruks returned with the poles, Záhovar motioned for Ghakû to approach. ”And now?”  
”Now we need some rope or some such. Tie 'em between the poles in one end to make a kind o' stretcher, big enough for the warg to lie on. Then we tie the other end to one o' the horses.”  
Graznikh chuckled. ”A travois. Why didn't I think o' that?”  
”'Cause ye're too busy thinking of other stuff,” Ghakû replied with a grin.  
  
As the late watches approached the next night, Graznikh slid off his mount with a pained groan. Despite having spent years riding, his muscles still screamed after having parried the unfamiliar gait of the horse all night, not to mention that the beast kept stumbling on what felt like every root, stone, hole or uneven patch of ground on the road. _Skai Akûl, get better before I lose the use of my legs!_   
Despite the soreness, he did not feel particularly tired. He could not stop thinking of the look he had seen in Záhovar's eyes when he returned from the attack, nor of what she had said and done. _She bloody_ kissed _me! I didn't even ask for it, that was all her doing. And she said... Was it serious, what she said? Did she mean it?_ That and her recent generosity made him want to think that things were truly changing for the better. _Maybe now's the time for that talk Praktash keeps bugging me about._ When he noticed her leaving the camp, he decided to test his luck after pitching her tent. But even so, there was still a flutter of nervosity in his gut as he tracked her down.  
”Hey.” Záhovar looked up as Graznikh sat down on the log beside her. He nodded up at the darkening sky. ”Nice evening. What?” he asked as he noticed her unreadable stare.  
”What do you want?”  
Graznikh shrugged. ”I just noticed that you keep looking back all the time. Still worried 'bout that spy or wild warg or whatever it is?”  
”No,” Záhovar replied quietly.   
”Then what? Forgot something back at Dâurin's?”  
”That is precisely the problem; that I did _not_ forget.”  
”So what's this important thing you didn't forget but can't stop thinking 'bout?”  
Záhovar looked back towards the camp and eyed the surrounding forest to make sure that they had no eavesdroppers. Graznikh did the same, lending his keener senses to hers. When they were certain to be alone, he scooched closer.   
”There is something I meant to do once we returned to Lugburz, something that I am now unable to do, at least until we finish the task at hand.” She met Graznikh's gaze. ”I need you to keep quiet about this. Especially to Praktash; I need him stable.”  
”I don't even know what I'm supposed to keep quiet about. But I will. Ya know I will.”  
She nodded. ”Praktash has a... I am uncertain of whether they truly are brothers or not, but they look very much alike.”  
”Praktash has a littermate?” Graznikh winced. ”I'm not sure I could handle two of 'em.”  
”This is a serious matter!”  
”Right, sorry. So lemme guess; this 'brother' is with the witch?”  
Záhovar nodded. ”I had the opportunity to speak with him alone, and promised to get him out of there.”  
”So why shouldn't Praktash know? Ya know we're both ready to fight whenever you say so.”  
”No,” Záhovar said and shook her head. ”I cannot bring either of you along for this.”  
”Now I didn't quite hear ya there,” Graznikh growled. ”You're gonna go and pick a fight with someone you said you don't stand a chance against alone, and you won't bring us?”  
”She is not invincible. But regardless, I cannot bring you. Praktash for obvious reasons; he is too afraid of her. You because I suspect that she is holding the leash to your compulsion; if that is true, then one word from her would make you turn against me without hesitation. And because of the bond, I would be defenseless.”  
”So why do this at all?”  
”Because I owe Kaelun that much. I... cannot explain why this is important. Only that it is.”  
Graznikh gave her a contemplative look, then he grinned. ”I think I know why... Âmbal. Fine, you do what ya have to. But how? Got any plans?”  
”Yes. I confronted her after that first assault, and she claimed that it was a lesson.” She frowned. ”No... She said: 'Consider this a taste of what you may face. Not all manipulation is as obvious as this'.”  
”That might mean that she's got more traps laid out.”  
Záhovar nodded. ”I do not know whether she is truly an enemy of mine or if this is simply her idea of supplementary studies. Either way, I will have to regard her as the former.”  
”And the plan..?”  
”I struck a deal of sorts with her. Her attack on me has interfered with His plan. She will give Kaelun to me in return for my silence.”  
Graznikh could hardly believe his ears. ”A _deal_? Are you outta yer bloody mind?!”  
”Sshh!!”   
”Fine, fine... But a _deal_?”  
”She may be powerful, but compared to our Master she is nothing. Displeasing Him is... unpleasant, especially when you are in a position where you should know better. My silence is worth enough to keep her from even attempting to trick her way out. I do not believe that she would have risen this high if she was that foolish.”  
”Guess you know her better than me... But I still have a bad feeling 'bout this.”  
”You have a bad feeling about a great many things lately, my Lug-snaga.”  
He gave her a weary little smile. ”Got a lot of reasons for it lately, my master.” Then he sighed and whispered: ”Did ya have to sever the bond? Was that shit really necessary?”  
”There was no other way. Had the connection remained, your hate would have as well. That is another reason why I must confront Gîrakûn. Alone.”  
Graznikh looked up. ”Ya think she's behind that too?”  
”Beyond any doubt.”  
He nodded. ”If you say so. But...”  
”Yes?”  
”Praktash told me what you did to his eyes, that it won't go away. What if...” He paused to swallow. ”What if this is permanent too? What if you fix the other problem only to find out that ya can't fix _this_?”  
”Would that be a bad thing?” Záhovar asked.  
”Of course it would!” Graznikh snapped. ”Don'tcha remember? You told me back at the start that you couldn't feel certain things other than through me. If the bond goes... then what'll happen to _you_? I don't wanna watch you turn into a wraith.”  
Záhovar frowned ever so slightly. ”But with the bond gone, do you not feel free? Did your... feelings... not disappear as well?”  
Graznikh frowned. ”Nar, they didn't. I can't feel _you_ anymore, but what I felt _for_ ya's still there. Don'tcha get it? If this was all the bond, then why'd I go after ya in the first place? Why d'ya think I waited all those years while you were gone? Why d'ya think I fought so hard to become yer trainer? There was no bond back then. T'was never about the bond. That's just a little extra on the side.”  
He leaned his head in his hands with an exasperated sigh, his voice sinking to little more than a whisper. ”Nar, it's more than that. I'm... empty without it. Like all the colours went away all at once an' I'm the only one noticing they're gone. It helped me sleep. I used to have such bloody bad dreams back when it broke the first time, and they never really quit. But whenever I touched the bond, it chased them away. _You_ chased them away. When the anger got outta hand, I had to stop that. And now you're gone, and... I'm so lonely. An' I can't... Skai!”  
He quickly turned away and punched the log they were sitting on with a low growl. Then he sank to his knees in front of the High Officer.  
”I don't wanna lose ya,” came a terrified little whimper as he looked up at her. ”I just _can't!_ I won't be able to keep it together if I don't know that this is just a passing thing. Please tell me it's not forever, _please!_ ”  
”It is not permanent,” Záhovar said and she sounded like she meant it. ”This may have been a complicated spell to cast, but it is easy to undo. Our bond _will_ return; you have my word.”  
”Can ya promise one more thing?”  
”What would you ask of me?”  
”To remember... To not forget me, or what we had.” He grabbed her leg as if she would disappear the moment he let go. ”I don't wanna lose ya... Don't wanna be alone again.”

Záhovar did not answer, but she did place a hand on his head and buried her fingers in his dirty, matted hair. Graznikh purred as she scratched his scalp and ran a finger along the tip of his ear. He felt like an idiot for allowing himself to be petted like this, but at the same time he could not help it. He needed so badly to feel appreciated and to fill the gaping void inside, and she was the only one who could do it. Then she began to sing softly, and as he heard the tune he could no longer hold the pain in check and voiced it with low, drawn out howls.  
  
 _”Of pine tree-root is your little foot  
of pine tree-branch are your little arms  
of wood are your legs and body.  
Your hair is brambly but still so soft  
and within your eyes as you're tucked in the moss  
there glistens a small tear of resin.”_  
  
Záhovar did not know where the tune came from or why she would sing it now of all times. She was certain that she had never heard it before, yet even so it felt strangely familiar. _To have the bond, to have all these conflicting feelings that constantly interfere with one's reasoning...Why would he want that? Why would he ask me to hold on, to remember and to return to such an existence, all for him? Unless... There was something in it for me as well? But what could that possibly be?  
_ ”Tell me something... When all this is over, what will you do?”  
Graznikh frowned. ”Whaddya mean?”  
”When the war is won, all our enemies defeated... When He governs the world as it was meant to be. There will be little need for armies then. Do you have any... plans?”  
He chuckled quietly. ”Haven't even thought that far... I've been so busy thinking about how to survive the next night. T'was a long time since I bothered with that.” He looked up. ”What about ya?”  
”I do not know,” Záhovar whispered. ”I can scarce imagine such a world. A world without war...”  
Graznikh grinned. ”As long as there are Orcs, there'll be war, I'd wager. We're pretty good at pissin' each other off. But... I'll think about it, and let ya know when I've figured it out.” They sat like that in silence for a while, her on the log and him kneeling in front of her with his head in her lap. The late night was still and the only sounds were those coming from the camp.  
”Can I sleep in your tent today?” Graznikh asked.  
”Will Praktash not miss you?”  
”Nar, he's a big boy. He can handle one day alone with the big, bad uzhâk.”  
”Very well then. You have my permission.”  
They stood and Graznikh gave Záhovar a grateful smile before they returned to the camp. The morning came in relative peace and once it was time for sleep, he could not resist savouring the look of open envy on Sulmurz's face as he followed the High Officer into her tent.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pau Oghor – Forest River  
> Pau Bolgurz – Bloody River
> 
> If you don't recognise the song, go read "Wolves And Shattered Shields" chapter 6.


	5. The Rocky Road To destruction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, double update! Because SMUT. You have been warned.

”Quit snoring.”  
”Quit listenin'.”  
”Quit yer yapping.”  
”Quit your fuckin' _life_!”  
”QUIT IT, both o' ya! Krîtar needs his bloody shut-eye an' if he doesn't, you'll be _crawlin'_ all the way to the plains!”  
In the face of such a threat, Golnauk and Ghrazagh fell silent and went back to bed.  
”Good evenin' all!” Praktash chirped a few eye-blinks later and a loud groan could be heard from Margzat. Graznikh listened to the resulting word-feud with a big grin and nuzzled Záhovar's neck with a happy purr. She turned to look at him and he brushed her jawline with a claw.  
”You're bloody lucky they're all out there,” he murmured to her. ”'Cause if they weren't, I'd fuck ya. And I will, make no mistake 'bout that. At some point, I'll fuck ya _good._ You won't be able to run from me forever, you get that don'tcha?”  
”Is that so?” Her arched eyebrow and challenging look made him chuckle. ”Be careful what you wish for, my Lug-snaga.”  
”I don't wish, my âmbal,” he retorted with a leer. ”I promise.”  
  
When Záhovar left the tent much later, her hair was newly brushed and her clothing nearly wrinkle-free. Sulmurz kept eyeing her and Graznikh with a suspicious, envious and slightly befuddled expression and Graznikh made sure to wear an aggravatingly sated and content look. _Yeah, you try figuring out how the fuck we managed to fuck like_ this _without making a single sound. You probably tried to listen in the whole time!  
_ Praktash was not so easily fooled; he gave Graznikh a judging look as he joined him by the fire.  
”Did you even touch her?” he whispered in Graznikh's ear.  
”Sure I did,” Graznikh whispered back.  
”But you didn't fuck. Don't lie, I woulda smelled it.”  
”Nar, we didn't.”  
”I can't _believe_ you two!” Praktash hissed. ”You lay all day, pressed up against that sweet, firm rump an' you _didn't_ fuck her?! You had all that warm, lovely skin right within reach, that wet, quiverin' cunt so close...”  
”Buddy, for fuck's sake!”  
Praktash grabbed his head as he tried to pull away and kept whispering with a mad grin, licking his ear as he went. ”That hot breath that'd exhale as you pushed in, that sweet voice moanin' against your neck as you humped her, teeth bitin' into your shoulder as you clawed her soft skin, feelin' her grow tighter an' lovin' every moment of it-”  
”Will you stop talking like that!” Graznikh exclaimed loudly as Praktash began to grope him. ”I'll tell ya all the juicy details _later!”_  
”Promise,” Praktash purred.  
”Yeah, yeah! Now beat it, I'm hungry.” Graznikh yelped as Praktash pulled him up into his lap and gave Margzat a humiliated look as the krîtar handed him the bowl. ”Fine screw dignity! Who needs it anyway?” _At least Sulmurz isn't glaring daggers into the back o' my skull anymore._  
”What, you haven't had enough of 'screwin' already?” Praktash snickered. Then he glanced at Záhovar and winked. Her emotionless face did not change as she returned the wink. The Uruks looked increasingly uncomfortable with the whole situation.  
”Bukrazikh,” Margzat rumbled. ”Quit disrespectin' the Lug-durbatar.”  
”Who's disrespectin'?” Praktash asked. ”We sure aren't. We're Lug-snaga,” he added with a sultry grin. ”We serve in _every_ way.”  
A few of the Uruks looked like they were gong to faint at hearing those words. Others looked like they had only now figured out that the High Officer leading them was, in fact, female. Kraash shot her a calculating look and recieved a downright hostile growl from Sulmurz. Margzat simply shook his head and gave Praktash a disapproving look before putting more wood on the fire.  
  
There were few good news during the night's march. Neither Urkhish nor Mikbork saw any further sign of the being that had followed them and the road was neither blocked nor beleaguered anywhere. The first incident was Graznikh falling off his horse when it stumbled. After a brief examination, Urkhish concluded that one of the nails that held its shoes in place had been badly placed; after removing the pack saddle and tying the horse to a tree, Sulmurz kept it calm while Urkhish pulled the shoe off and pushed some healing salve into the hole where the nail had pierced the sole. Then he wrapped the hoof in leather to keep it from getting dirty while it healed.  
”Where'd you learn about hoof care?” Sulmurz asked.  
”Spent some time with th' farriers in Blog Shakâmb when I was off-duty. They taught me some.” Urkhish scratched the horse's mane. ”Mind these beasts less than I do some Uruks.”  
Záhovar had overheard the conversation and quietly took note of Urkhish's skills. Bringing a farrier was something she had completely overlooked.  
Shortly after, her horse was spooked by something and leapt sideways into a tree. Záhovar cried out in pain as a dry branch that had recently broken off slid in under her greave and pierced her upper calf.  
”Shit!!” Praktash cried out and lifted her out of the saddle.  
”I suggest we just butcher these stupid beasts and save them for snacks,” Graznikh snarled while Praktash washed Záhovar's bleeding leg.  
”Without those 'beasts' we would have been forced to return to Ruzh Moraut,” Záhovar pointed out.  
”Maybe that'd be better! We're not even past the border yet and we're already almost done for. Skai!”  
”Don't worry buddy,” Praktash grinned. ”I'm sure Dachman'll leave us some treats up ahead. We've got a good reason to get goin'!”  
”I bloody hope he appreciates all this effort,” Graznikh growled. ”I'm gonna tell him all about it; recount every nasty little detail before I kill him.”  
  
Despite her injury, Záhovar decided that they push on. Once they stopped after a long, arduous march and set up camp, Praktash unbuckled his armour and crawled up against Margzat, placing his head in his lap and rubbing the big Uruk's crotch with the back of his head. ”Hey krîtar,” he purred.  
Margzat grinned down at him. ”The fuck d'ya want, Bukrazikh?”  
Praktash gave him a seductive leer and gave his lower abs a slow lick. The krîtar bared his fangs and Praktash could see his pupils widen slightly.  
”Drop it Lug-snaga,” Mûrnaluzh chuckled. ”He tops ya, you won't be walking afterwards.”  
”Already done it,” Praktash purred without taking his eyes off Margzat's scarred body as the krîtar slowly removed his cuirass. ”Walked just fine after.” Mûrnaluzh's eyes widened, but Praktash was too busy to notice. Margzat grabbed his shirt and pulled him up close.  
”Careful Bukrazikh,” he purred. ”Don't rile me, or I'll give ya a ride right here an' now. Wanna give the pack a show?”  
”Just plow 'im!” Mûrnaluzh chuckled. ”Who the fuck cares what the opa-snaga wants?”  
”Mind yer fuckin' mouth, or _you'll_ be the opa-snaga tonight!” Ghrazagh growled.  
Mûrnaluzh bared his fangs with a vicious growl.  
”Break it,” Margzat snapped.  
”Hey, flesh-knitter,” Golnauk said. ”Think I might need yer skills here.” He held up his foot; there was a large, bloody patch on the heel.  
”Again?” Praktash complained. ”You won't have any heels left when this is over!” He grumbled a little as he left his comfortable spot in Margzat's lap and grabbed his healer's bag.  
Graznikh rolled his shoulders as he put his bowl down. ”Skai krîtar, ya really know how to cook!”  
Margzat chuckled deeply as he handed another bowl to Lîrnash. Sulmurz grumbled a little but shoveled the food into his mouth so fast that Graznikh wondered if he wasn't going to drown in it soon. After resting for a bit, he stood and stretched before readying his weapons.  
Sulmurz opened an eye to peer at him. ”Goin' out?”  
”Yeah, gonna try to scout a little. Maybe hunt too. Nothing wrong with the krîtar's cooking, but I do miss having fresh meat on the menu. Snuffler, ya wanna come too?”  
Mikbork nodded eagerly and climbed onto his warg. Graznikh mounted Ghakû's warg which he had borrowed after making sure that his throwing knives were in place and that the harness was properly tightened. Praktash watched him prepare while treating Golnauk.  
”Hey, Zosh? Get the blood outta this, will ya?” He handed her Golnauk's boots and she pulled her knife and started scraping the dried blood from the inside.  
”Stupid, goin' on a march like this in new boots,” Praktash told Golnauk.  
”Not much choice,” Golnauk grunted. ”'S the only pair I have.”  
”Really?”  
”We only get the one. Ya want new ones, ya show the worn-out ones to the quartermaster an' they'll decide whether you deserve it or not.”  
”Fair enough. Wait with puttin' it back on 'til it's dried a bit. I'll wrap it up before we're off again an' give ya some paddin' to keep the boot snug; it'll keep it from gettin' worse.”  
Golnauk grunted and rose.  
  
Praktash waited until Graznikh had left the camp before going over to Záhovar's tent and drumming the tent cloth with his fingers.  
”Just me,” he said when she asked who it was. ”Can I come in?”  
A moment of silence passed. ”You may.”  
Záhovar sat crosslegged on her bed, still in full armour. He nodded a greeting and sat down on the ground beside the bed when she gestured for him to do so.  
”Hope I didn't wake ya up.”  
”You did not. What do you want?”  
Praktash shrugged. ”Just thought I'd check on ya, see how you're doin'.”  
Záhovar arched an eyebrow.  
”Don't look at me like that,” he said with a grin. He nodded towards her leg. ”How's the cut?”  
”It is healing.”  
”Mind if I take a look? I don't like leavin' things to chance.” She unbuckled the greave. Praktash unwrapped the bandages and studied the wound. ”Looks to be healin' just fine.”  
”Where did you learn to tend wounds?” Záhovar asked as he rewrapped her leg.  
”Picked it up here an' there. I started in Blog Shakâmb when I was just a runt, then I picked it up again when I got to Lugburz. There were always healers, sawbones, drugdealers an' folks like that who were willin' to teach. I found ways to pay them back, an'... Well, I learned. An' experimented; always liked doin' that,” he added with a little leer. The innuendo was not lost on her; the corner of her mouth twitched a little as she met his toxic green gaze.  
”And were they all as unwilling as your latest target?”  
”Some more so, some less.” He cocked his head. ”Speakin' of that... How're you holdin' up?”  
”I... hold up.”  
”Must've been kinda cold an' lonely without Graz to warm your bed. Or anyone.”  
Záhovar shifted position a little. ”At times. But I get by.”  
”Shouldn't have to. You know one word would have both of 'em doin' however you want.”  
She looked away with a pained scowl. ”I cannot. I _will_ not!”  
”Why not?”  
She looked at him again with a new kind of fire in her eyes. ”Because I will not become like Gîrakûn! I will not use you like mere tools to be discarded once you break.” She sighed a little. ”I know that they would come if I called. But I have no wish to turn either of you into that kind of snaga. I want you to keep your minds, to be... If not free, then as free as can be. Forcing you would bring me no pleasure.”  
Praktash felt a cold tingle in his gut at hearing that name. Then he grinned a little. ”I suppose I should be askin' 'why', but I'm not in the mood.”  
”Ah... Then perhaps we should not continue this conversation.”  
”Nar, I'd rather serve ya in other ways.”  
  
Záhovar's eyes narrowed. ”What are you implying?”  
He gave her a friendly wink. ”I'm _implyin'_ that if you wanna get off, perhaps I can lend a hand. Or tongue.”  
”Now?”  
”Now's better than never.”  
Praktash's offer was more welcome than he knew, but still Záhovar hesitated.  
Praktash picked up on her reluctance. ”C'mon, why not? It's just a friendly offer. I'm not makin' it 'cause I'm horny, I'm offerin' 'cause I know how bloody frustratin' it can be to be surrounded by all these hot guys and be unable to lay a finger on 'em for whatever reason. So if you wanna get rid of some of that frustration, I live to serve.” He gave her his most charming smile.  
Záhovar arched an eyebrow. ”Is that the only reason?”  
”Nar, not really,” Praktash said. ”It'd also piss Sully off like nothin' else, knowin' that I can just waltz in an' take what he wants.”  
Záhovar smiled a little. ”He could get that too, if he only asked for it.”  
”Yeah but you've messed him up so bad he doesn't dare to. Although he might overcome that little threshold if he knew I got there first; jealousy can be a real fire in the arse for some.”  
Záhovar's smile widened at that and Praktash chuckled. ”You get some, I get some. It's a win-win. So whaddya say, master? Will ya let me piss the cock-scared bastard off a little?”  
”As if your tongue was not pissing him off enough already,” Záhovar whispered in reply, but nodded her approval.  
  
Záhovar's armour was as familiar to Praktash as his own after having helped her don it so many times. Now his nimble fingers quickly removed every last piece and parted her layered clothing to reach the eerily patterned skin underneath. Záhovar leaned back on the bedroll and sighed as Praktash's soft lips and probing tongue found her neck. His hands found her breasts in turn and brushed the nipples with butterfly touches. She stifled a moan with the back of her hand and Praktash smiled. _So you wanna keep quiet? We'll see about that._ He had often repeated to himself what Graznikh had taught him about women's bodies and had asked his buddy a lot of questions about the whole thing. Praktash had always prided himself on being an expert at fucking as well as healing, but his first encounter with Záhovar had opened up a whole new field where he was still a novice. The woman back in the rebel camp had been a little experiment without any real value; this was the first time he was alone with a woman he cared about and could put his knowledge to the proper test. _Slowly,_ he reminded himself as he ran his fingertips and tongue over her skin. _Coax it out like a stubborn fire, no rushin' or the coals'll die before the flame's caught._  
Záhovar sighed again as he slowly licked his way downwards. As he reached a spot halfway between her navel and her cunt he caught the skin between his front teeth and bit down hard, leaving a bright red welt behind. Záhovar squeaked and gave him a furious look.  
”Gotta leave a mark of my own, don'tcha think?” he murmured and leered at her. Softly he suckled the skin around the welt before continuing down between her legs. There he broke contact briefly to take his leather shirt off, roll it up and place it underneath her hips to lift them a little from the ground. Fingers first, firm but gentle, rubbing outside the folds to make sure she would not be too sensitive before parting them with his tongue. His hands continued back up, fondling her breasts. He used a tiny bit of lube to keep things smooth as he circled each nipple with a finger.  
”Tap my shoulder when I find the right spot, will ya?” When she nodded, he began his exploration. He slowly slid his tongue down along one side of the little ridge in the middle that Graznikh said was so sensitive, wiggling at little as he went. When he felt the tap on his shoulder, he stayed at that spot for a little while before moving around again. Záhovar let out an annoyed sound as he did so, and Praktash returned to where he was before until he felt another tap. After leaving the spot a second time Záhovar propped herself up on her elbows.  
”Do not stray,” she said. ”When you find the right place, you remain there. Straying will only bring frustration. The bad kind,” she added.  
”Right,” Praktash replied. ”I'm still new at this.”  
”You are doing well,” Záhovar said with a little smirk. ”As long as you do not stray.”  
Praktash chuckled and started over. This time he made sure to stay in place once he'd found the right spot, and Záhovar was soon gasping softly and undulating under his tongue. He was amazed and a bit weirded out over the fact that he could be this close to someone's genitals without feeling the slightest bit horny. But at the same time it was a good thing, because it meant that he could focus entirely on making her feel as good as possible.  
Záhovar had to struggle to remain quiet as he began to purr. The vibrations and the delicious swirl of his tongue slowly but surely drove her closer to the edge. Two fingers slid inside and slowly thrust back and forth; she quickly tapped his shoulder as they found _that_ spot and the fingers immediately thrust faster, wriggling back and forth over it. She glanced down; Praktash met her eyes and briefly flashed his fangs in a feral grin and that was it; Záhovar came with a strangled moan, muffled only by the corner of the blanket that she was clutching in her fist as she pressed it to her mouth.  
Praktash let her catch her breath a little but did not remove his fingers. ”Want another?” he asked huskily and dove back down with a chuckle the moment she nodded. Soon Záhovar no longer cared to silence her moans.

  
Sulmurz jerked awake. At first he did not understand why he had done so, but then a soft moan reached his ears. The sound of a woman. _What the fuck..?_ He turned to stare at the High Officer's tent when another moan was heard, louder this time. It was soon followed by a quiet chuckle, and Sulmurz's face twisted as he recognised the voice. _Oh, that fuckin' arsehole..!_ He laid back down and tried to shut the sounds of Záhovar's enjoyment out without luck. Ghakû chuckled as Sulmurz pressed his hands to his ears, whining quietly over his suddenly rock-hard boner.  
”I can't _believe_ this,” Sulmurz groaned.  
”I can,” Kraash gasped. He was already in the middle of a furious wank. Ghakû was fondling himself through his loincloth, but had gone no further than that. Suddenly Kraash rolled over and straddled his hips, yanking his loincloth out of the way. Ghakû placed his hands behind his head and grinned wide as the younger Orc took both their cocks in one large hand and began to thrust.  
”Oh, come _on,_ ” Sulmurz groaned.  
”You'll grow outta that phase, lad,” Ghakû purred. ”Snaga can't be choosers. Take it where ya can get it.”  
”I'mma get what I want,” Sulmurz growled. ”One pretty night I'll get back in that tent.”  
”Well, you're not there now,” Kraash groaned.  
”Yeah, but... _him?_ Who the fuck _knows_ where that cock's been?”  
”Like I said; take it where ya can get it,” Ghakû gasped. ”Now shut up an' let an old Orc have his fun, will ya?”  
Sulmurz gave up on trying to ignore what went on in the tent and decided to make the most of the ordeal instead. A few hard tugs and a bit of wriggling got his breeches down to his knees. It was difficult to shut out Praktash's purrs, but Záhovar's soft moans and whimpers were amazing fap material; it was almost like she was there with him instead of in the tent. Like he was humping her instead of his hand, and like she was crying out like that because of his cock and not some perverted, cocksucking, shitpacking-  
”Havin' a good time?”  
Sulmurz's eyes snapped open and he stared up into Praktash's green ones. He hadn't even noticed that the activities in the tent were over. The Uruk pouted his plump, pierced lips and blew gently at his face, and at first Sulmurz snarled at the interruption. Then his eyes grew round as he sniffed the air and slowly realised exactly what he was smelling on Praktash's breath.  
”Want more? Suck my cock,” Praktash whispered with a satisfied chuckle before rising to leave.  
”You obnoxious fucking _bastard!!_ ” Sulmurz roared. ”I hate you!” He picked up a rock and threw it after him, but Praktash dodged it with ease and gave him a big, happy grin.  
”I hate you too,” he mouthed and winked as he left.  
  
Praktash was still chuckling as he crept down beside Margzat. They hadn't cared to set up the tent now that they did not have to suffer the Sun. The krîtar gave him a wide-eyed look and sniffed him over. ”What the _fuck_ 've ya been doin'?!”  
”My duty,” Praktash replied cheerfully. Margzat did not seem to hear him; he grabbed his head and pulled him close as if to kiss him, nostrils flaring as he sniffed and groaned quietly.  
”Oh, for fuck's sake,” Praktash complained. ”Don't tell me you're one of those too!”  
”One o' what?” Margzat purred.  
”You know what I mean,” he said and chuckled as Margzat began licking his face. ”Plashnak-obsessed... Mmph!” Then he couldn't say anything more as Margzat caught his fangs and began kissing and clawing, quickly working himself into a frenzy. His thumbs were slick and inside his arse before Praktash could even think things over and he growled as the krîtar pushed him over and forced his legs apart. ”For fuck's sake, 'Zat! We're in the middle of the fuckin' camp!”  
”Feelin' prissy, Bukrazikh?” Ghrazagh purred and chuckled as Praktash threw him a scandalised glance. ”Bit late for that now, methinks.”  
Margzat withdrew his thumbs and crawled on top of him, prodding blindly. Praktash roared and tried to buck him off, but the krîtar was far stronger and heavier than him and the rest of the pack helped him hold the 'prey' down. Hands descended from everywhere, pinning his arms to the ground, forcing his legs apart and turning the blood in his veins to fire. Wet lips and sharp teeth teased his eartips and nipped at his skin, driving him nearly mad with mingled pleasure and pain.  
”There we go...” Urkhish leaned close, eagerly eyeing Praktash's expression.  
”Tomorrow's rations says he'll split.”  
”Ya already lost, Mûrna,” Lîrnash chuckled as Margzat found the right place and tore a hoarse moan from Praktash as he pushed past his resistance. The krîtar leaned in close and nuzzled his ear with a deep purr as he inched inside; despite his eagerness, he still took care not to break him.  
”Skai,” someone exclaimed.  
”'At's fuckin' impressive,” Ghrazagh said. ”Never thought I'd see our krîtar top someone without tearin' them apart.”  
”Okay, tomorrow's rations says he won't be able to _walk_ tomorrow!” Mûrnaluzh tried.  
”I'm not riskin' my lunch on that,” Golnauk replied. ”He's a tough one, our Bukrazikh.”  
Praktash gasped for air as Margzat began to thrust. _Damn you 'Zat, I'm not ready for this! Not for_ all _of them!_ Several of the others were already fondling themselves and watching him hungrily, waiting for their turn. Ghrazagh kept rubbing his cock in Praktash's face, leaving a slimy trail behind.  
”Watch it; I'd wager he's a biter,” Lîrnash chuckled. True enough; as soon as Margzat pummeled into that sweet spot deep inside that made him see stars, Praktash snapped his fangs unconsciously and missed Ghrazagh's cock with a mere thumb's breadth. Margzat tore him up and held him close to his chest while Ghrazagh grabbed his cock. Praktash gave up on fighting back and leaned his head against Ghrazagh's shoulder, groaning loudly as Margzat came with a roar and completely filled him up with his final thrust.  
  
Margzat had barely withdrawn before Ghrazagh replaced him. Praktash fought furiously, but the other Uruk already had a firm grip on his hips. He felt a little glad that Margzat had fucked him first and slickened the passage, because Ghrazagh hilted inside none too gently and began to fuck him fast and hard without so much as a drop of lube to ease his entry.  
_I don't wanna be opa-snaga for the whole fuckin' uzhâk! 'Zat, you bastard!_ From the corner of his eye he saw Lîrnash jump Margzat and the krîtar fell to his knees with a chuckle. Lîrnash was nowhere near being a threat to Margzat's position and in a small group like this there was little risk of anyone taking undue liberties, except for Mûrnaluzh who was currently keeping his distance. The sound of Margzat's rumbling groans and the slapping of tough Uruk hides soon sent Praktash over the edge with Ghrazagh close behind.  
Mûrnaluzh tried to jump him next, but Golnauk elbowed him in the face.  
”You're not gettin' any o' this, ya upstart bastard,” he growled. Mûrnaluzh roared a challenge, but Margzat was next to Golnauk in an instant, as were Ghrazagh and Lîrnash. Praktash was too busy trembling and panting on the ground to care.  
Mûrnaluzh snorted. ”Like I'm gonna fight over an arse,” he chuckled in an attempt to cover his losses as he backed away. Golnauk turned to Praktash, who was trying to get up. He gave Golnauk a frightened look as he knelt behind him and quickly rolled over on his back to keep the other from pinning him and kicked at his face. Golnauk caught his leg with a snicker and Praktash weakly struggled to keep from being turned over. But Golnauk did not even try to do that. Instead he grabbed Praktash's ankles and pulled his hips into his lap, then slipped inside and began to fuck him face to face like Graznikh used to fuck Záhovar. Golnauk leaned in close and laughed at Praktash's stunned expression.  
”Thought you were safe on yer back, hmm?” He bit Praktash's neck and fondled his dick while sliding in and out slowly. The slow going felt like balm to his abused arse after the hammering Ghrazagh had given him and Praktash couldn't keep from moaning.  
”Mmh,” Golnauk grunted. ”Fuckin' ya like this, arse all stretched an' with that sweet smell on yer face, almost feels like fuckin' a plashnak. Keep squeakin' like that, makatok, g'won...”  
” _Fuck off!!_ ” Praktash managed to roar in the deepest voice he could muster. Golnauk and a few others laughed but were silenced by a growl.  
”Get yer shit done an' fuck off,” Margzat growled at Golnauk. Then he knelt beside Praktash, biting his chin gently before licking and biting his way downwards. Whatever regrets Praktash might have had over the whole situation soon disappeared as Golnauk began to thrust harder. The krîtar let out a muffled purr and it took Praktash a moment to register that the amazing feeling emanating from his crotch was was actually Margzat's split tongue dancing over the head of his cock. The realisation was enough to send him over the edge again.

When Golnauk was done, Margzat took over again. Despite having been fucked thrice already, the size of Margzat's cock still touched places no one else could reach and Praktash whimpered as the intense sensations and the helplessness began to get to his head. His nostrils and ears were filled with the scents and sounds of rutting as the camp erupted in a full-blown orgy and the pack sense was a roar in his mind, a flashflood that threatened to sweep him off to Darkness knew where.  
”'Zat, 'Zat, I can't take this, I can't do this!”  
”Then don't,” Margzat grunted in his ear. ”Just lose it, show the others what ya got!” He held Praktash's hips steady and barked for Draumaturz to come over. As the other Uruk obeyed and knelt before them with a teasing leer, Praktash thought he was going to suck him off. But Draumaturz turned around and presented his rear instead. Praktash struggled in vain as Margzat coated his cock and Draumaturz's rear with lube, with one huge fist tangled in Praktash's hair making sure that he watched the whole thing. _I can't be-fuckin'-lieve this! Graz, help me, I'mma go crazy from this!_ But something kept him from crying for help as Draumaturz slowly began to back up against him, eyes glowing with eagerness. Some little speck of Uruk pride unexpectedly resurfaced and forbade him from doing so. _I've had them all thinkin' I'm the one toppin'_ him _, not the other way around. I can't shatter that now. I don't wanna have 'Zat thinkin' I'm the Uruk that hides behind a snaga!_  
A growl erupted from Praktash's throat as Margzat pushed him forward and thrust hard, hammering his cock into Draumaturz's arse from behind. Draumaturz growled as well and bucked back, and as Praktash got fucked from two sides at once he finally felt himself snap; he bellowed as he went into a frenzy such as he had never before experienced. After that, things got a little blurry.  
  
  
”Good hunt,” Graznikh remarked as they headed back towards the camp. Mikbork and Zosh nodded, licking their fingers to get the last of the blood off. Five dead mountain goats and a bag full of offal lay piled on the wargs' backs, and the wargs kept eyeing them hungrily.  
”Stop it,” Graznikh barked at them. ”You've had plenty, and you can hunt on your own again once we've dropped these off at camp. You know where the herd is now, shouldn't be too hard to track 'em down.” The wargs muttered something incoherent and looked away.  
”Good lad,” Graznikh grinned.  
”Good liver,” Mikbork snickered.  
Graznikh agreed. ”Yeah, been too long since last. It just ain't the same when it's cooked or dried. Nor is the hunt. I still got blood all over my face, don't I?”  
Zosh nodded. ”An' hands. An' chest.”  
”Good! Let 'em see what they've missed out on.”  
He frowned as a strange sound reached his ears. There was some kind of tumult back at camp. Graznikh's steps seemed to lengthen on their own and the wargs soon had to trot to keep up with him. Outside of camp, he came upon Sulmurz, Kraash and Ghakû; they were sitting with their backs against a tree, merrily chatting away.  
”Bosnauk,” Sulmurz greeted as he spotted them. ”Good hunt?”  
”Had better,” Graznikh chuckled and jabbed a thumb at the wargs. Kraash began to drool as he saw the goats.  
”Skai, we'll eat like Top Ones tonight!”  
”Whaddya doin' out here?” Graznikh asked.  
”He fucked her,” Sulmurz snarled.  
”Now now, lad, don't be like 'at,” Ghakû chuckled. ”Yer Uruk pal 'did his duty',” he explained to the confused Graznikh. ”An' then he walked right into the uzhâk, stinkin' o' rut and plashnak. When the Uruks got a whiff o' _that,_ well... They all went sorta crazy.”  
Graznikh stared at them for a long while with a lopsided little smile. Then he looked towards camp. The next moment he had Sulmurz by the throat.  
”AND YOU LEFT HER IN THE MIDDLE OF A BUNCH OF LUST-CRAZED URUKS?! WHAT THE EVERLOVIN' FUCK IS WRONG WITH YA, YOU FUCKIN' IDIOT?!?” He turned towards Kraash and Ghakû. ”You...” he hissed. ”Butcher the goats. Mikbork's in charge; he's obviously the only reliable sort to be found around here!” He tore the whip from Sulmurz's belt and tossed it to the astonished snuffler. ”Have fun! Don't wear it all out in one go.” Zosh's eyes lit up with complete insanity. Graznikh let go of Sulmurz's neck and grabbed him by the hair instead. ”And you're comin' with me!” Then he stomped off towards the camp.  
  
”It's not like that!” Sulmurz croaked as he was dragged along and tried to keep his footing. ”They're not fuckin' her, they're fuckin' _him_!”  
”Like that's so bloody much better,” Graznikh growled quietly. ”And they _were_ fuckin' him when ya left; how long've you been away from camp?”  
”Not long at all, we'd just finished... uh... well, they woke us up, an'-”  
”Stop talking.” Graznikh broke into a run with Sulmurz close behind and skidded to a stop in front of the High Officer's tent just before Gimtog and Drôturz reached it.  
”Ho there,” he said softly. ”You two fine fellows weren't plannin' on biting the hand that feeds ya, were ya?” Sulmurz stopped beside him, scimitar in hand.  
The two Uruks looked at them and leered. ”Two little snaga. Stupid move, comin' here.”  
”I agree,” Graznikh said. ”So why don'tcha run along back to your little party, hmm? Saves us all a fight ya can't win.”  
”Like we'd want some ruined arse when there's fresh plashnak right here!”  
”I heard this one beat your krîtar,” Sulmurz said with a nod to Graznikh. ”Not really the kind o' guy you'd wanna mess with, right?”  
”Anyone can beat the krîtar,” Gimtog sneered. ”He's only krîtar 'cause nobody wants his dick splittin' their arse in their sleep.”  
Graznikh decided to not leave things to chance. Taking a quick step forward so that he ended up between the two Uruks, he leapt into the air and dropkicked, sending them both tumbling in opposite directions. Sulmurz stared wide-mouthed at him for a moment before he gathered his courage and came to the rescue.  
Graznikh punched Gimtog hard in the face. The Uruk dug his claws into his thigh and Graznikh roared in pain, repeatedly bringing the pommel of his knife down on Gimtog's wrist and eventually breaking it. Sulmurz had apparently broken Drôturz's jaw by stomping on his face while he was down, but now he had been disarmed and was in a tight spot. Graznikh gave his opponent a hard kick in the chin and roared a challenge at Drôturz.  
  
Suddenly, a bellow that shook the earth came from behind. Margzat rushed up, buck naked and so furious that he could barely speak. He grabbed both Uruks by the neck and began banging them together.  
”What... The... Fuck... is...” He let out another wordless roar and threw Gimtog down on the ground. Drôturz he dragged over to a little tree, bent it with one hand until it broke and then proceeded to smash him belly-first against it until he was impaled on the jagged stump. Then he grabbed Gimtog, slammed his face into the ground and snapped his neck. The krîtar turned towards Graznikh, still shaking with fury, eyes completely black with frenzy and rage.  
”No one... No fuckin' _one..._ threatens a High Officer under my command,” he growled. ” _NO_ one disobeys my orders! _This,_ ” he pointed at the dead Uruks, ”is what happens when ya do! IS 'AT BLOODY CLEAR??” he roared back at the uzhâk. Everyone had stopped what they were currently doing to stare at him and nod enthusiastically, even Praktash. Margzat let out a furious snort. Then he shook his head, took a deep breath and seemed to deflate a little as his pupils returned to their normal almond shape.  
”This won't happen again, Lug-snaga. I'll see to that.”  
Graznikh nodded. ”Don't worry 'bout it.” He looked over at the scene by the fire. ”Is he okay back there?”  
Margzat grinned a little. ”Yeah, he's fine. I think Mûrna's beginnin' to regret makin' an enemy outta him. Never seen anyone get that rough a fuck, an' I've seen plenty.”  
”I guess that one deserves it,” Graznikh said.  
”That _Uruk_ deserves it,” Sulmurz muttered to himself once Margzat was out of hearing range.  
Graznikh gave him a sharp look. ”What's your problem with Margzat?”  
”Huh? Nar, I didn't mean _him!_ I meant, uh... Y'know, let's... Let's just drop it.”  
  
  
Graznikh muttered something incoherent and turned to the tent. Záhovar was sitting outside the entrance and had apparently been watching the action, dressed only in the wrap-around tunic that she wore underneath her armour. It left her legs bare all the way up to her thighs and Graznikh suspected that she wore nothing underneath.  
”Having fun?” he asked dryly.  
”It has been an entertaining evening,” she replied with an innocent little smile.  
”Good for you. Y'know, I'm gonna play bodyguard tonight, since we've got nothing better to do. Sulmurz,” he barked. ”Hey, _Sully_!”  
Sulmurz had been staring at Záhovar's leg and twitched when Graznikh spoke his name. ”Huh?”  
”I don't feel right leaving her alone with the Uruks goin' crazy over there. You up for some flanking tonight? Me on one side, you on the other, Officer in the middle?”  
Sulmurz looked like Graznikh had just told him to make out with a live viper.  
”Whaddya say?” Graznikh asked Záhovar. She gave him an unreadable look but did not protest. When she rose to enter the tent she flashed bare skin all the way up to her hip for a brief moment and Sulmurz squeaked something that sounded like ”eerk”.  
”Good! Now get in that tent, I'm bloody exhausted. We'll worry 'bout the meat tomorrow.”  
He almost had to wrestle the reluctant Sulmurz into the tent, and Záhovar was not very helpful either.  
”You're gonna have to move the bedroll if we're to fit in here,” he told her. When her only reply was an enigmatic smile, he grabbed the edge of her bedroll and roughly dragged both it and her to the middle of the tent before putting his own bedroll on one side and Sulmurz's on the other.  
”Ya gonna do this or not?” he asked. Sulmurz was staring at Záhovar with pure, unadulterated fear in his eyes and Graznikh did not have to look to know what kind of expression Záhovar wore. He grabbed her shoulders and pushed her down on her back.  
”You're making things way harder than they should be,” he murmured. ”And I'm not just talking cocks here. If you want a fuck, then say so! Quit bein' a tease. Now get down here,” he barked at Sulmurz. Despite his worry for Záhovar's safety and his lousy mood, Graznikh couldn't keep from grinning a little as he watched Sulmurz crawl into bed with mechanical movements. _You wanted this all along,_ he thought. _Don't goblin out now!_  
Once Sulmurz was in place, Záhovar snuggled up to him and turned her back to Graznikh. Graznikh had to bite back laughter as he saw the drartul's wide-eyed stare up at the tent ceiling. No doubt she was doing to him what she had done to both Graznikh and Praktash so many times when they shared her bed in Lugburz; crawl up close and catch his hand between her thighs while wrapping her arms around his arm so that he could not escape.  
  
Graznikh remained where he was. A part of him wanted to snuggle up close, but he was not going to play desperate. _Don'tcha worry, âmbal. I'm not that stupid, not anymore. Unless you ask for it, you'll have to make do with Sulmurz. I'm not gonna piss ya off any more'n I already have._ He closed his eyes and pretended to sleep, but he could smell Sulmurz's intense fear and horniness and could not help but wonder what she had done to him to make him sink so low. Briefly he wondered if he had misjudged him, but Sulmurz had proved a capable fighter and had never shown weakness in any other situation. He _was_ a tough one, except for when Záhovar was present. Opening the eye that was closest to them, he briefly stole a glance. Záhovar's breathing had calmed, telling them both that she was asleep. Sulmurz was studying her sleeping face with open, vulnerable wonder and ran a tress of her hair between his fingers. Briefly Graznikh wondered if he had bonded with her, but he did not think so. _I'd wager that bond can only form once. Unless the Eye screwed that up too when He had His way with her._  
Záhovar shivered slightly despite the blanket. Graznikh decided to risk her wrath and rolled closer; Sulmurz immediately looked away with an embarrassed scowl but Graznikh paid him no heed. As he placed a hand on her shoulder, he found that she was freezing cold.  
”She's cold as death,” he whispered to Sulmurz. ”This been going on for long?”  
”I dunno,” Sulmurz whispered back. ”Haven't been this close to her since... Well, since I fucked her in Thaurband. She was fine back then.”  
”Skai!” _Screw the consequences, I can't leave her like this!_ He stripped down to his loincloth and quietly commanded Sulmurz to do the same as he began to pick at the knot that held Záhovar's tunic together.  
She woke up and caught his wrist with a tense glare. ”What are you doing?”  
”Warming ya up,” Graznikh replied softly. ”You're freezing cold, and I don't think it's too much to say you're probably not sleeping all that well like this, right?”  
She did not reply and he did his best to meet her eyes without challenging her. An eternity seemed to pass, but then something changed. Graznikh was not sure exactly _what_ changed; perhaps it was the disappearance of the slight tension around her eyes or mouth, or the way her shoulders relaxed, but whatever it was, it told him that he had her approval.  
”So which one o' us d'ya want behind ya?” he asked with a little smirk. Záhovar sucked on a fingertip with a playful expression while thinking it over, and Graznikh felt his loincloth grow a little tighter at the sight. Sulmurz looked a little too eager as well and nodded ever so slightly as she glanced at him. Záhovar rewarded him with a coy little smile and beckoned for him to come closer with the finger she had previously held in her mouth.  
”So I'm guessing Praktash didn't wear ya out earlier,” Graznikh purred as she snuggled up to him with Sulmurz spooning her in turn.  
”Not this time.”  
”Tongue'n fingers not enough for ya?”  
Sulmurz scowled at that. ”Tongue? Who the fuck puts his _tongue_ there?”  
”Praktash, that's who,” Graznikh said and snickered at his upset look.  
”He bloody told me he had his cock up there!”  
”Oho? How did he say it?”  
”He...” Sulmurz winced. ”...Told me to suck his cock if I wanted more...”  
Graznikh laughed. ”So he didn't say anything for real, you just assumed stuff.”  
”Well, why the fuck wouldn't I?! What can a tongue do anyway that a cock couldn't do better?”  
”If you try it, then you will know,” Záhovar murmured. Sulmurz's eyes widened until they looked like they were about to fall out and Graznikh laughed.  
”Oh, you little makatok! Wanna watch the Orcs get in trouble, do ya?”  
”Can, uh... Can we sleep now?” Sulmurz asked with only a hint of a whimper in his voice. ”Or... Y'know... talk about something else?”  
Graznikh leered at him as he made himself comfortable. ”You really gonna be able to sleep after this?” He chuckled as Sulmurz shook his head with a dismayed expression. After a bit of shuffling and muttering from Sulmurz, Graznikh opened an eye. ”Whazza matter?”  
”Dunno where to put my arm. 'S gonna end up on you no matter what I do.”  
Graznikh sighed. ”Just put it somewhere! _I'm_ not gonna fuck ya so just bloody relax. You need to do better than that to turn me on.”  
”Thanks,” Sulmurz muttered. ”That really helps.” But he did put his arm down and lay still, and that was all that mattered to Graznikh. He fell asleep almost right away as he closed his eyes and amazingly, this time he had no nightmares.  
  
  
A hard shake forced Graznikh awake. He grumbled and tried to push the unwelcome disturbance away, but it returned as soon as he turned around.  
”Hey, Graznikh? Chief?! _”_ came Sulmurz's panicky squeak. When Graznikh rolled over, he locked eyes with Záhovar who knelt before them with a predatory smile, again wearing nothing but her tunic. It had slipped off her shoulders and she was holding it closed with her hands, barely. Before he knew it he was grinning like an idiot at the sight. _You wicked little tease..!_ When she was certain that they were both looking at her, she dropped the tunic on the ground and left the tent. The grin disappeared from his face immediately and he shared an incredulous glance with Sulmurz. _This wasn't part of the deal!_ Both Orcs left the tent just in time to watch Záhovar walk straight into the ûzhak.  
Margzat was already awake and was preparing breakfast when Záhovar walked up to him wearing nothing but air and the scent that had driven the entire pack into frenzy the night before. The moment he spotted her, something haunted crept into his eyes and the ladle slipped forgotten from his hand and disappeared into the pot's murky depths.  
”Do you know who I am, krîtar?” she asked softly as she stopped beside him.  
”L-Lug-durbatar Záhovar,” Margzat whispered, nostrils flaring. She gave him an approving smile before continuing on.  
”Master,” Graznikh said while trying to keep the fear from his voice. ”Come back here, _please!_ ” Her only reply was a confident smile and Graznikh winced as she walked up to Ghrazagh and Lîrnash on light feet and stopped between Ghrazagh's muscular thighs. Lîrnash woke up first, took one look at Záhovar and punched Ghrazagh's shoulder. Ghrazagh sat up with a growl and stopped mere inches from smashing his forehead into her lower abdomen. His eyes slowly wandered upwards from the bite mark below her navel until he met her eyes.  
”Do you know who I am, Uruk?” she asked.  
Ghrazagh's face split up into an evil leer. ”Lug-durbatar Záhovar.” Lîrnash repeated it and both Uruks purred as she passed between them. Ghrazagh even dared to lick her thigh. There she had to stop as Mûrnaluzh barred her way. The krîtar's rival was already dressed and armed, and now he gave the little Officer a look that told Graznikh that he was going to tear her apart and eat her right then and there.  
”Are you challenging me?” Záhovar asked him calmly. Mûrnaluzh took a few steps back and knelt.  
”Nar, Lug-durbatar.”  
”A wise decision.”

If someone had asked Praktash, he would not have been able to say what happened the night before. It had been one drawn-out blur of fucking and getting fucked, and he had no idea who had topped whom in the end. Now he lay in the middle of a pile of Uruks and had never felt more content. His rear stung, but heavy bodies pressed against him from all sides, filling his ears with sleepy purrs, low growls and calm breathing and he didn't want the krîtar to wake them, didn't want to leave the pack. He was spooning Golnauk of all people and thought it was Urkhish or Draumaturz spooning him in turn, and he could not have been more content with the way things were. He opened an eye when he heard Margzat's astonished voice and watched Záhovar do her thing with a leisurely grin. As he wriggled a little, he noticed that his rear did sting quite a bit, and as she approached the Uruk pile he decided to pay Margzat and the uzhâk back a little.  
”Good mornin', master,” he said as he stretched and gave her a happy grin, ignoring the disgruntled sounds from the others.  
”Good morning, my Lug-snaga,” Záhovar replied. He sat up and tried to keep from wincing as his clawed-up backside touched the ground. He spread his legs wide, inviting her to come in between them. There were a few surprised sounds from the Uruks as they saw what was going on and a decidedly envious growl from Sulmurz as Praktash cupped Záhovar's naked buttocks in his hands. His eyes sought and found permission before proceeding.  
Graznikh stared in disbelief as Praktash caught the bite mark on Záhovar's lower abdomen with a deep, possessive growl, matching it perfectly with his fangs. He threw a quick look at Margzat. The krîtar stared with the most incredulous and furious expression Graznikh had ever seen on his face, and soon he got to his feet and stomped away. Mûrnaluzh stared as well, but in fear instead of anger. The rest of the uzhâk wore similar expressions of mingled shock, fear, disbelief and outrage.  
Záhovar turned towards him with a little smirk when Praktash let her go. ”Do you still fear for my safety among these Uruks, my bodyguard?”  
Graznikh shook his head with a tired sneer. ”Can't bloody well protect ya from yourself, now can I?” Praktash watched them stare each other down in what was nearly an open challenge. _For fuck's sake, not in front of everyone! You hafta be blind, deaf an' bloody knocked out not to recognise the look you just gave each other!_

After a few long moments, Graznikh turned and left. He could not stand to see this anymore and had to get away before the perfectly reasonable anger made him do or say something even more stupid. Some distance away from camp he found Margzat, who was busy doing his best to reduce a fallen tree to sawdust and splinters with his sword. The krîtar left the sword stuck in the log as he spotted him and turned away, shaking his head.  
”So which one of us should start?” Graznikh asked him.  
”Don't wanna say somethin' stupid,” Margzat muttered with an angry scowl.  
”Say whatever ya want; I'm game for some shit-talkin' if you are.”  
”Yer buddy,” Margzat said and pointed towards camp, ”is a bloody fuckin' idiot!”  
”Yeah, that was a bit over-the-top, wasnt it?” Graznikh replied.  
”'Over-the-top'..?!” Margzat repeated with a trumpeting snort. ”He marked her! He fuckin' _claimed_ her! 'At's bloody _dangerous_ , 's what it is!”  
Graznikh arched an eyebrow. ”Why, what's so special about marking for Uruks?”  
Margzat sank down upon the fallen tree. ”'S not the markin' in itself. I mean... ya fuck, ya bite, it happens an' it's no big deal. But matchin' the bite mark the way he did, in front o' the whole pack like 'at... 'At's dominance stuff. It's sayin' 'I made this, this is mine, I own this one'. Ya don't do that with every other guy ya happen to fuck, it's _special_. An' doin' it with a superior... if anyone tried that shit with me, I'd probably kill 'em. Wouldn't allow it, 'cause 'at'd mean they're my equal. An' doin' it like _that..._ ” He gave Graznikh a tortured look. ”He just up an' told the whole fuckin' uzhâk that he's equal to a High Officer! An' she let him do it!”  
”Or maybe he told 'em that she's equal to an Uruk,” Graznikh commented. That made Margzat speechless for a moment and he even turned a slightly lighter shade of gray.  
”'At's not a good thing, Lug-snaga!”  
”Oho. Says who?”  
The krîtar held his hands up, one above the other. ”Here's how it is; High Officer above, Uruk below. Uruk, High Officer. There's no in-between!”  
”But there is,” Graznikh pointed out. ”It's called 'Lug-snaga'. And whether you like it or not, Praktash fits that title like a fist in a gauntlet. Besides, you know that High Officers don't play by the rules. They _make_ the rules.”  
Margzat's eyes narrowed. ”The Eye makes the rules.”  
Graznikh shook his head. ”The Eye doesn't give a shit about the rules. Nar, you shut up and listen!” he snapped as Margzat began to growl. Margzat snapped his fangs shut with an audible 'click', more from surprise that someone had actually told him off than from any real sense of obedience.  
”Here's how it is; the Eye is the framework. You really think He's got time to sit and pick through the heads of every Orc'n Uruk in Lugburz? Nar, that's why there're High Officers in the first place. He tells 'em what to do, but not _how_ to do it. The rest is up to them, and I'd wager that as long as the job gets done He doesn't care 'bout the details.”  
Margzat frowned. ”I'm thinkin' 'at doesn't sound very orderly.”  
Graznikh shrugged as he sat down crosslegged on the ground. The krîtar followed his example shortly after. ”Nar, it isn't. Every one of 'em has their own way o' doing things. Nashrakû's got hers, the Black Hand's got his, lord Záhovar's got hers. All different, none of 'em wrong, not as long as it works out in the end. Same as us, in a way. Now lord Záhovar, she wants to get in good with Orcs'n Uruks alike. That's something no other Officer ever tried, so no wonder she's a bit unconventional.” The insight hit him like lightning and the anger he had previously felt suddenly dissipated. ”Ya know, if I didn't know better... Nar, actually I don't. That display back in camp? Probably planned aforehand down to the smallest detail. And I wouldn't be surprised if Praktash was in on it too. If she wants to get in good with you Uruks she'll have to come down to your level, right?”

Margzat frowned, deep in thought. After a while, he grinned a little. ”She's not playin' it easy. Might be openin' herself up for doubt. 'At means a challenge if she's not careful.”  
”I get the feeling that's exactly what she wants,” Graznikh replied.  
”I'm not gon' fight her. I know my place.”  
”I don't think she'll pick on ya either.” Graznikh leered. ”But I think we both know someone who _might_ be stupid and ambitious enough to try.”  
Margzat frowned at first, but then he leered back. ”If we're thinkin' o' the same guy... Then I'm thinkin' I'll _enjoy_ watchin' that!”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bosnauk - Onion word. In the Orcish dialect Sulmurz and Ghakû speaks, it means "friend". In Graznikh's and Kraash's dialect, it means "ally". In the Uruk dialect of Blog Shakâmb, it means "conjoined twin".


	6. Don't Forget The Violence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disturbing elements incoming (but you probably guessed that from the title).

The fortress of Blog Shakâmb rarely changed. It had not done so for centuries, at least not on the outside. Despite the ominous, looming towers above, the majority of its halls reached deep underground, more akin to an anthill than any fortress built by Mannish hands. Sorcerers, inventors and scholars went about their nightly or daily routines in the upper levels above ground. On and below the surface were the Black Uruk boot camps and below them the breeding pits and the mud pits where said Uruks were formed. One level down lay the dungeons, where the air was permeated by dark magic and where wraiths and wights were the only permanent inhabitants. And below them lay places few had ever visited and even fewer had left. Or escaped.

”Kaelun?”  
The willowy Uruk boy left the corner where he usually hid and knelt gracefully beside the large, cluttered desk. ”Yes, my Ladyship?”  
He waited as the silence stretched. Not patiently, but it mattered little; whether patient or not, there was nothing else he could do.  
At long last, a scornful chuckle broke the silence. ”It would seem that things are going well for your contumelious benefactor.”  
”My Ladyship confuses me.”   
Gnarly fingers slid gently through silken black hair, as if comforting a pet. An innocent gesture that set a too-sensitive body on fire. ”You remember Záhovar, do you not?”  
Kaelun closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against the edge of the chair, the hard wood cushioned by heavy robes. ”Yes,” he whispered in reply. _Záhovar. Worship. So good, so wrong. Promise. 'Brother'. Just another lie.  
_ ”She has been hunting insurgents in the desert. Not an easy task, especially not with her prerequisites, but she seems to have not only survived but succeeded as well.”  
Kaelun listened. His ears drank in every syllable until his insides squirmed with a need that was both his and not his at the same time. She would do this at times; speak to him as if there was meaning behind the words, as if there was something real. It was usually followed by... discomfort. Such a petty word to describe activities that drove you insane over and over again.  
”And how strange,” Gîrakûn murmured. ”It would seem that after returning to Thaurband, she disappeared along with what was left of the uzhâk that she set out with. They were last seen in Ruzh Moraut, travelling north along the road.” She frowned. ”And my informant suddenly went silent. What _could_ that girl be up to..?”  
A whimper escaped his lips and caught his Ladyship's attention. ”Would you like to see her again?”  
”Yes.”  
”Indeed..? I wonder if that feeling is mutual. She did not seem to enjoy your attentions the last time. Fancy that... But perhaps a return visit could be arranged. Now what should we do to make her feel more... welcome?”  
Kaelun could think of a thousand and one things that he could do to her, and now that he had begun he could not stop.  
”The box might do nicely... Perhaps I should leave you in there as well. Would it not be nice to have company in there for once? Where you could have as much of her as you wanted, without any chance of her resisting or escaping? Hmm? What then would you do?”  
The possibilities flooded his mind and he began to tremble. ”I wanna... Please..!”  
”I do believe my pet enjoys to be in charge. It is an interesting change from the usual, is it not? But to want to do such things to a High Officer... You should be ashamed of yourself.”  
A frightened but needy whimper was the only reply.  
”Do you miss her?”  
”Y-yes!”  
”Why?”  
”I don't know.” He gasped a little; the answer was as unexpected to him as it was to her. _I don't know..?_ But it was true; telling _her_ a lie was impossible.   
”You don't know..? Interesting.” Impossibly brown eyes left the paper and glanced down in his direction, sending a tremor through his body. ”Say her name.”  
”Worship...”  
”No; her _name._ You know it.”  
”Zá-ho-var...” Kaelun could not help but purr at the last syllable; such a name was too _pure_ to be spoken by one such as he. _Oh Worship, come back to me!_  
”And how does that make you feel?”  
”Good,” Kaelun moaned.  
Gîrakûn watched with some interest as he fell to the floor with a desperate groan. ”No, I think not.”  
”Need, want... Please, my Ladyship, _please!_ ”  
She smiled. ”I do wonder if Záhovar fully understands the torment she is putting you through? Poor lad... How long has it been now? Two months? Three? So long with no release... It must be quite uncomfortable.”  
  
Kaelun's only reply was a tortured groan. His entire nether region _hurt_ and the only relief was refused him. Without thinking, he did the forbidden and placed a hand on his Ladyship's foot. The retaliation was immediate; his back arched so hard that it felt like he broke it as an invisible, white-hot spear shot up through his groin and exited his mouth. The agony was too great even for screams. He kicked and coiled and clawed at his body in a futile attempt to remove it. Then it disappeared as quickly as it had come. Even the pain faded in an instant, but the memory of it did not. He hyperventilated and cramped hard, the instinctual fear of death taking over every fiber of his existence and when his voice finally returned, he howled into the carpet like a frightened little child.  
Gîrakûn let out an annoyed snort. ”You are beginning to bore me. I do not think that I would miss you if you disappeared.”  
Kaelun immediately went limp. Such a statement was a death sentence. Did this mean that it would finally be over? ”My Ladyship's wish is my law.”  
”You are useless like this. Shoo!”  
There was no disobeying the command. Kaelun's shaking body acted on its own, struggling to get him up and away as fast as possible. An annoyed tap by a slipper-covered foot sent him flying back into the corner. There the compulsion finally faded a little and he could break down for real.  
”Do be quiet! I am trying to focus here.”   
Kaelun pushed his little pillow to his face, muffling his sobs as best he could. It was the only comfort he had. _Mustn't disturb my Ladyship. Mustn't exist, mustn't be real. Mustn't think like that. Mustn't_ be _like that. Oh Worship... Worship... Please be real..._  
  
  
”...So we had no choice,” Margzat rumbled as he chopped off a vine that blocked his path. ”Had to keep marchin'. Wasn't 'til we reached past the Mountain that we got to stop for a breather.”  
”Ouch,” Graznikh commented.  
”Ya can say that again,” the krîtar chuckled. ”Shortcuts're usually a bad idea. 'Least in Lugburz. _'Specially_ in Kirithgal. ”  
”And the Desolation,” Urkhish added. ”Remember that time we got lost'n ended up camping in a badger's nest?”  
”Fuck!” Draumaturz exclaimed jokingly. ”I'd almost forgotten 'bout that time, you bastard!” Several of the others laughed. ”If ya think ants're crappy bed mates, you should try bloody badgers!”  
”Bloody, for real,” Urkhish snickered. ”Covered in Uruk blood an' likin' every moment of it!” Praktash shuddered.  
Záhovar and Margzat had driven them hard, and after a few nights the land began to rise and the trees thinned a little as they passed the foothills of the Ash Mountains and reached the arid land beyond. Now they traveled through sparse woodland near the edge of a vast, trackless plain. Graznikh's sprained ankle had healed enough for him to walk on it, but he remained mounted at Záhovar's request. Akûl was still restrained on the travois but was allowed up every time they stopped to sleep.  
Mûrnaluzh had been completely livid when he found out about the deaths of Gimtog and Drôturz, to the point where he had lost it and attacked Margzat. Despite this transgression, Margzat would not let the others kill him. There had already been enough death and injuries and he refused to thin their numbers further for such a petty reason. After that, Mûrnaluzh kept to himself and refused to speak to anyone, and no one cared enough to inquire further upon the matter.  
Praktash, on the other hand, felt like he was finally going up in the world. Urkhish and Draumaturz had really warmed up to him and Margzat had stopped giving Draumaturz the evil eye, especially after the grey-eyed Uruk had challenged him, lost spectacularly and shown throat. Urkhish had loudly proclaimed that he was the biggest idiot he had ever met, to which Draumaturz had shrugged and replied that he had no illusions about where his place was and that he simply wanted to set matters straight. Now he sported a black eye, a broken finger and several gashes after the krîtar's claws.  
  
”What of ya, Lug-snaga?” Margzat asked Graznikh. ”Ever had any tough marches out West?”  
Graznikh shrugged. ”Sure, but they weren't much different from here. Easier, really; no choking bogs or burning rocks falling from the sky. Most of the time we planned ahead; sniffed out some tark caravan or such, set up an ambush and took whatever we could after. I got caught in avalances a few times, that's all.”  
”What's an avalanche?” Golnauk asked.  
”'S like a rock-slide, only with snow instead of rock.”  
The Uruks shared a confused look. ”...What's snow?”  
”Err...” Graznikh had to struggle to come up with a sensible explanation. ”It's like... Remember that time out on the sands near the Crags when the temperature dropped and the water had that glass-like sheet on top that melted when ya touched it? That's ice. Snow is like ice, only white and in really tiny pieces.”  
Margzat gave him an incredulous look. ”An' ya got caught in a _rockslide_ o' that shit? How the fuck're ya not still there, all cut up?!”  
”Snow isn't hard like ice,” Graznikh explained. ”It's more... fluffy. Like sea foam, only cold instead.”  
”What's sea foam?”  
 _I wish Záhovar had taken the time to take that detour Praktash asked for!_ ”It's like...”  
”Are you familiar with soap, krîtar?” Záhovar interrupted.  
”Yeah, I am.”  
”Then you know that it turns into foam when you mix it with water and stir it hard? Sea foam looks the same. Snow does not; it is more like a loose, white dough that can be kneaded and shaped under the right circumstances. It can have other colours as well, but that usually means that it is contaminated by something other than water.”  
”Like blood,” Kraash snickered. ”Or piss. Or both; never seen that combination though.”

At that point, Mikbork returned.   
”Hi Micky!” Zosh chirped as he mounted behind her.  
”Can we stop?” Mikbork asked, ignoring Praktash's gleeful cooing as the goblins rubbed noses.  
Graznikh frowned. ”Right now?”  
”Why?” Záhovar asked without looking at them.  
”No time,” the snuffler replied meekly. ”It's stop now or let 'em all get away.”  
After a moment's hesitation, Záhovar commanded a halt. Then she turned to look straight at Mikbork with a stern expression. ”Now what is the meaning of this interruption?”  
”Deer,” the snuffler replied and pointed. ”Th' trees thin out down th' hill'n there's a big herd o' deer right near the edge o' th' plain.”  
Graznikh grinned. ”Might be able to catch 'em by surprise, have a nice feast on fresh venison tonight.”  
Both Orcs and Uruks and wargs grew eager and began to plan out the ambush before Záhovar interrupted them. ”We have no time for idle pleasantries,” she snapped. ”Eye knows what kind of trouble Dachman may cause before we catch him, and we are already late! There will be plenty of time to play on the way back.”  
”Aww, c'mon!” Praktash protested with a disappointed face. ”What if we're in a hurry then too?”  
”Don't talk back to the Officer, Bukrazikh,” Margzat said, but Praktash shrugged him off and left his place in the uzhâk to catch up with Záhovar's horse. Once there, he ran backwards beside the horse and gave her the weirdest look she had ever seen in his eyes. Zosh grinned like an idiot.  
”Please, master,” Praktash said in a voice that was halfway between a whisper and a purr. ” _Please._ I really looked forward to seein' that sea ya spoke of, ya gonna take this away too?”  
”I cannot cater to every whim of yours,” Záhovar replied, slightly softer than before.  
”But it's not just me; all o' us've been runnin' our soles off across the desert, then the promised rest at Thaurband was cancelled. If you push us into another 'all work an' no play' mission we might crack down the middle from boredom!”  
”What of what I gave you in the outpost we built?”  
”That was _one_ night, weeks ago! Besides, didn't you say you wanted to practise that charm spell in case we encounter more weird critters that want to eat us? This is a perfect opportunity!”  
She halted the horse and gave him a blank look. ”Practice charm spells. On deer.”  
”Yeah!” Praktash grinned. ”They're fast, alert, won't be easily fooled.”  
Záhovar remained indecisive so he added a bit of a pout as well for added effect. ”C'mon, _please!_ Fresh meat, a thrillin' hunt, the chance to kill... Bolster the rations a little, practice for you, entertainment for us... Everybody wins!”  
She let out an exasperated sigh, but did not speak.  
”The sun's almost up; we'd have to stop in a toll or two anyway.” His grin widened a little. ”I'll make it up to ya. We'll run twice as fast for the rest of the week. An' morale'll be overflowin' for a fight in case someone's stupid enough to try an' stop us.” He let out a squeak as she grabbed him by the collar and nearly pulled him off his feet.  
”This _once,_ ” she snapped. Then she added with a hiss; ”but if you ever challenge my authority in public again, you will come to regret it!”  
”It won't happen again,” Praktash breathed with wide, innocent eyes. ”I promise.”  
Záhovar let him go with another exasperated sigh. Then she dismounted. ”Krîtar; you have my permission to prepare for the hunt.”

  
Spirits were soon high enough to threaten the very heavens. They left the road so as not to risk unwanted attention. Mikbork went off again to see whether the deer had moved or remained where they were last seen while the warrior Orcs and Uruks picketed the horses, relieved the wargs of their harnesses and disposed of any unnecessary clutter. They had agreed not to use ranged weapons for this; this would be a leisure hunt so they would simply run them down, revel in the hunt and tear whatever they caught apart. They split up into smaller groups of two, three or four to avoid excessive rivalry over the prey. Once Mikbork had confirmed that the herd had not moved far, they crept into the shady woods, a pack out for blood.  
  
Záhovar tied her horse to a nearby tree and waited until the Orcs had disappeared in the gloom before following them, leaving her glaive behind. If all went well, she would have no need for weapons. The night was mostly cloudy, but here and there the Moon peeked out from beyond, lightly veiled by higher cloud wisps. Whenever it did, the skin on her face and the thin, pale lines of metal on her armour reflected it ever so faintly, contrasting with the black metal and leather underneath which seemed to absorb the light and turn even darker. The combined sight was... disturbing.

The deer were foraging calmly among the bushes near the forest's edge, unaware of their impending doom. Graznikh drank in the scent of them; the scent of blood, meat, fur and the strangely alluring scent that indicated that it was the beginning of rutting season. Slaver dribbled down Sulmurz's chin as he did the same. They could see the buck lift his crowned head as he surveyed his harem and listened for hidden foes, the proud tyrant of his own little realm. He had gathered quite a large following; Graznikh could count almost twenty heads, both does and younger animals hovering in their own little group nearby. Fangs bared and leers flashed as the buck tried to mount one of the does, but she was not yet ready to receive him and ran off.  
A gasp caught Graznikh's attention. Following Sulmurz's wide-eyed look he spotted Záhovar walking calmly out from the shadows. The deer lifted their heads as one to stare at her. He tensed up and felt rather than saw the others do the same; once the deer made a move to run, the hunt was on.  
  
Záhovar released the charming spell once she had her prey's attention. She could see them freeze, muscles twitching and toes on end, attempting to flee but unable to move. The buck snorted as she walked up to him; a single kick could easily split her skull. But it was a kick that never came. She placed a gauntleted hand beneath his narrow chin, tilting his head so that she looked him straight in the eye while drawing the dagger strapped to her thigh. A flash of obsidian opened the artery down along his neck, painting her red with every desperate, frantic beat of his struggling heart. The sudden realisation of his own mortality and the following shock sent the buck gracefully sinking to his knees; an onlooker with a sense of poetry might have called it a respectful bow from a defeated king. Záhovar followed him down, gasping from the intensity of his death throes.  
The sight of their emperor's fall broke the herd. They bolted for the open plain, but the warg pack was in their way, howling a challenge as they blocked their path and tore into them. Several of the does turned to escape into the forest where their fate was sealed; the Orcs bellowed as they broke cover with each group pursuing their chosen prey. The Uruks did the same and the forest soon filled with a cacophony of bloodthirsty roars and the screams of the dying.  
  
Praktash ran like he had not run since the night he escaped Blog Shakâmb, but this run was _good_. He and Margzat had picked out an older doe whose flesh would be tough to chew but rich in taste. Now they herded the panicked animal back and forth through the woods, laughing and roaring and reveling in the chase. Eventually she stopped. They closed in, one from each side, eyeing her for any sign of recuperation. Her legs were shaking so hard that Praktash almost thought she would fall over and flecks of blood stained the froth at her mouth. She hyperventilated hard and the whites could be seen in her eyes. Even so he felt no remorse, no pity, no compassion, only the pounding of his own heart and the frenzy that screamed for blood.  
They closed in as one and the doe unexpectedly jumped straight into the air. Praktash had faster reflexes than Margzat and jumped after her, catching her neck in an almost loving embrace on the way down and burying his teeth in her throat before she had even reached the ground. Once she did, she collapsed from shock and the added weight and convulsed hard. Praktash clamped down with his jaws on pure instinct, crushing the windpipe and tearing the neck artery with a fang. He snorted as his nose and mouth filled with warm blood. Margzat embraced him in turn and bit down as well, further down her neck, drinking his share of delicious crimson.  
Once the doe had stopped thrashing and their jaws unlocked, the healer and the krîtar shared a feral look. Then Praktash began to giggle. Margzat let out a happy roar and pulled him up onto his chest with an ecstatic grin, snapping his fangs until Praktash reciprocated. They rolled on the ground, kissing euphorically and licking the blood off each other's faces with loud purrs.  
”First kill?” Margzat asked breathlessly once Praktash let go of him long enough for him to find his voice.  
Praktash shook his head and gasped; ”first hunt!”  
”Then we should celebrate!” Praktash groaned with need as Margzat ground his hips against him.  
”Roll over then, krîtar, an' take it like a snaga!” Margzat happily obeyed and after some quick preparation with lube, Praktash claimed his prize until his krîtar was begging for mercy, biting into the bloody fur and moaning in ecstasy.  
  
Meanwhile, Graznikh, Sulmurz and Ghakû were busy buthering their catch and gorging themselves on raw offal.  
”I can't believe this,” Sulmurz said with a disgusted face at Ghakû. ”Ye're actually _eating_ the balls?!”  
”Mhm,” Ghakû grunted while slurping up the aforementioned body parts. ”Should try it, whelp. Might open yer brains a little to the finer points o' life.”  
”There're no points on balls,” Sulmurz said and shuddered. ”C'mon, hand me some o' that liver before I puke.”  
”Try ghâshpau,” Graznikh snickered. ”It works for Záhovar.”  
”What she drinks is not good for anyone! Skai, I don't get how she can stomach that shit.”  
Graznikh arched an eyebrow. ”What, you've tasted it?”  
”Sure have. That time when she let me touch her foot. Oh come _on!_ ” he growled as Graznikh began to laugh. ”I told ya what really happened!”  
”I know,” Graznikh snickered. ”But I can't stop thinking 'bout that first picture I got in my head when you told me 'bout it.” He made a move with his hand as if gingerly poking something, then made a face that said 'yay, I won!'.   
”Well at least I got to her before you did!”  
”You sure did. What?” he asked when Sulmurz scowled.  
”Nar, 's nothing,” Sulmurz chuckled, but he reeked of disappointment.  
Graznikh chuckled. ”You really think she's gonna give ya up that quick after the ride ya gave her? Nar, drartul. She's not done with ya yet.”  
Sulmurz gave him a dubious glance. ”How d'ya know?”  
”Because I know what she smells like when she wants something! And mark my words; she wants a repeat ride on that,” Graznikh said and pointed at Sulmurz's crotch with the bone he was gnawing on.  
”Sounds like the lady's building a real collection here,” Ghakû snickered. ”Is she snogging the Uruks too?”  
”Just the one,” Graznikh replied. ”Praktash's got a special place. Just give it up!” he told Sulmurz as the other Orc shuddered. ”He's not gonna go anywhere so ya might as well get used to it. It could be worse.”  
”How?” Sulmurz asked.  
”Well she could be snogging Kraash!”  
”I'mma knife him if he tries anything,” Sulmurz snarled.  
Ghakû frowned. ”Speaking o' Kraash; where is he?”  
  
  
Záhovar still knelt beside the dead buck, feeling sated and sick at the same time. She had enjoyed taking the lives of others for as long as she could remember, but something had changed. This time, as she felt life seep away the pleasure had been so intense, so sweet that she had lost all control. Afterwards she felt alert and invigorated, as if the animal's death had somehow given her new life. The need was still there, the want for more death, the thirst for more exquisite pleasure. It was hard to resist.  
A sound from behind broke her reverie and she looked up. Kraash sauntered into the clearing dragging a yearling deer. Its legs were broken but it was otherwise very much alive, struggling weakly as he dumped it beside her with a leer. The black need in her grew stronger as she sensed its pain. ”What is the meaning of this?”  
Kraash shrugged. ”Top One should be able to indulge a bit more than just the one kill.” He gave her a sly, evil grin as he squatted beside her, not quite close enough to touch. Then he held up what he had been hiding behind his back; a fistful of thin, sharp sticks, the purpose of which was obvious as he glanced at the frightened deer.  
”Those selfish pansies back there might be decent killers, but they dunno the real meaning behind takin' a life. Not the way we do...” Záhovar met his eyes and saw that he was right. All Orcs were affected by the general corruption of Lugburz, but Kraash had internalised that corruption so much that it had become a part of who he was, choking and washing away everything else. He bared his crooked teeth in a grin that was equal parts submissive and challenging and met her cold gaze with an insane cruelty that let no fear pass.  
”You dare compare yourself to a High Officer?” she hissed.  
”Didn't say that,” he murmured. ”I'm yer loyal snaga. Always.” Záhovar could not look away as he took one of the sharpened sticks. A part of her tried to scream that this was not right, that she should resist and remain free, but the feral hunger that _needed_ this effectively pummelled that other part into some dark pit and slammed the door in the face of reason. Then it turned with a hiss. The same hiss reverberated from Záhovar's mouth as Kraash slowly pushed the stick in between two furry ribs at an angle that would cause intense pain but not kill, himself groaning quietly as he did so.   
The next moment he was upon her. Záhovar hit the ground hard as she fell face first, kicking at his face but only glancing. Kraash laughed as he grabbed her leg and then her hips, digging his claws into her skin as he yanked her closer. She clawed his arm in turn and tried to turn around, but he pinned her hips down. Záhovar felt the skin on her lower abdomen shred as he grabbed the lacing on her breeches and tore the crotch clean off them all the way from front to back. He leaned in close and purred hoarsely in her ear as he prodded and searched for the right place with his cock. Záhovar desperately tried to gather focus for a spell, but lost her concentration beyond all hope of regaining it as Kraash grabbed another sharp stick and jammed it hard into the deer's hock as he hilted inside with one hard thrust. A clawed hand covered her mouth and muffled her cries as he began to fuck her hard.  
 _  
Pain. Want. Death. Pleasure. Hate. Need. Fear. Desire._ It was too much, felt too _good_. Záhovar had never reached her peak so fast before. Kraash was not far behind, and the moment of crisis when he lost control was exactly the moment she had been waiting for. She twisted and managed to hook her knee around his neck. Then she braced herself against the ground, twisted harder and he went down, rolling over until he was on his back with his head against the dying deer and she was on top. Then she backhanded him hard across the face.  
”You dare assault me?!” she hissed and buried her steel claws into his shoulders.  
”'Course I do!” Kraash snarled. ”Why the fuck d'ya think I didn't ask 'pretty please' first like your collared prettyboys?!” He grabbed three of the sharp sticks and repeatedly stabbed the deer's neck to make it stop thrashing. Then he grabbed her hips, planted his feet wide and bore up into her with a furious roar.   
Záhovar groaned as Kraash brutalised her. Despite the pain, despite _everything_ , she leaved the punishment for later. She used him as he used her, slashing, clawing, feeding off his pain now that the deer was dead. And more would come.  
  
”What the ever-loving fuck is going on?” Graznikh exclaimed with a disturbed frown as he neare the clearing where he had last seen Záhovar and heard the strange sounds.   
Kraash's roar of completion split the silence of dawn. But it changed pitch in the middle and became a howl of terror, accompanied by a shrill, earsplitting scream that may have been Záhovar's. Graznikh and Sulmurz exchanged a wide-eyed look before they both began to run towards the sound.  
Kraash was lying flat on his back in the middle of the clearing next to a deer carcass full of sticks and bleeding little holes. Every inch of his body that was not covered by armour was shredded or pierced as if he had taken a tumble in brambles. His loincloth was crumpled in his fist and he was hyperventilating and looking like he had seen a ghost. Graznikh half suspected that he had. Záhovar was equally torn up but more alert; she sat crosslegged beside the half-butchered buck, cutting strips of raw meat while whisper-singing a creepy little tune.  
  
”When the black night falls, the raven calls  
And bathes me with her sweet breath  
And the rough grey blanket weighs us down  
Into a sleep like death...”  
  
One look at her was enough to make Graznikh and Sulmurz pounce Kraash where he lay.   
”You first,” Sulmurz snarled to Graznikh as he pulled the roughed-up Orc to his feet. Kraash grunted as Graznikh's fist connected with his gut. Then Graznikh held him up by the hair as Sulmurz punched him as well. After a few turns of tossing and punching during which Kraash had not said a word, Graznikh grabbed him by the throat and forced him to meet his eyes.  
”Give me one good reason not to kill ya,” he snarled. Kraash stared at him with the same haunted look for a moment, then he exploded with insane, cackling laughter.  
”The fuck is wrong with ya?!” Sulmurz growled.  
”I don't care,” Kraash eventually managed to hiss. ”WOOHOOO!! Ow,” he added as he sank to his knees, clutching his bruised belly. ”Skai, we gotta do that again, hey, whaddya say gûl-âmbal?”  
Záhovar gave him a cold look. ”Touch me again and I will do more than simply kill you.” Kraash only shook his head at that and kept snickering as he rolled over on his side. His weirder-than-usual behaviour made some of Graznikh's anger dissolve and he gave Záhovar a confused look.  
”What..?”  
”What do you think?” she answered calmly.   
Graznikh shrugged and focused instead on seeing to her wounds. After a quick examination he stood with a sigh. ”I'll go get Praktash.”

  
Urkhish, Draumaturz and Golnauk had downed a deer in a nearby copse, but from the sound of it their prey was still alive.  
”What the fuck's goin' on over there?” Praktash wondered out loud. Urkhish apparently heard him, for he appeared from the thick undergrowth shortly after.  
”Caught a doe in season,” he said with a leer. ”We're just marinatin' the meat a little.”  
”Oh, for fuck's sake!!” Praktash gagged. ”That's disgustin'!” He bared his fangs at Margzat as the krîtar ruffled his hair.  
”Let 'em play, Bukrazikh. Every lad in the group's not as eager for cock as ya are, an' Eye knows they don't see a lot o' plashnak out here. What they do see is mostly off-limits.”  
”Yeah, but still...” Praktash grimaced. ”I'd never get _that_ desperate.”  
”Then maybe we should get ya one o' those chastity belts Graznikh spoke of an' test yer limits. Was just jokin',” he added quickly when Praktash looked at him with a face that said 'you try an' it's over between us'.  
Ghrazagh, Lîrnash and Mûrnaluzh returned at that point with disappointment written all over their faces. Their prey had eluded them, but after a quick discussion Margzat and Praktash agreed to share their kill. Praktash had already eaten his fill and more, so when Graznikh came calling he happily left the remains to the others. The moment he laid eyes on Záhovar however, he barely choked down a terrified scream and quickly hid behind a tree.  
Graznikh doubled back when he noticed Praktash's absence. ”Buddy? What's wrong?”  
”What the fuck izzat?!” he squeaked.  
Graznikh looked at the people in the clearing. ”What's what?”  
”That!” Praktash pointed towards the dead buck.  
”What, behind Záhovar?”  
” _That's_ Záhovar?!”  
”Err... Yeah? Why, what do you see?”  
  
Praktash squinted as he peeked out from behind the tree. Now that he knew who it was, he _did_ see Záhovar, the way she had always looked. But inside and around her, as if layered on top of her was something else; a near identical image of her but pale as death with jet black hair, as if all colour had been washed away save from her eyes which burned with the same infernal fire as the Great Eye. He rubbed his eyes and looked again, and once more the image seemed to fade a little.  
”She's injured,” he noticed. ”What happened here?”  
”Not sure,” Graznikh grunted. ”But I guess Kraash decided to fuck her. And judging by her answer when he suggested a repeat, she wasn't overly fond of the idea.”  
Praktash managed to tear his eyes off Záhovar. ”From the look of it, he succeeded in bloody _rapin'_ her! Why the fuck is he still alive?”  
”Err...” Graznikh had no answer to that. ”She didn't tell us to?”  
That made Praktash overcome his fear. He marched into the clearing and squatted beside Záhovar. ”Hey, master. Mind if I check on those cuts?”  
”If you wish.” As Záhovar spoke, the ghostly mirror image of her did as well. Praktash wondered if any of the others noticed the otherworldly hiss it made. Now that he was up close he saw that it had a wide, black-bleeding gash across its throat where Záhovar had been wounded during her last elevation. _Is this the real Záhovar? The wraith that she'll become if... Skai!_ He began to dig out salves, powders and bandages from his healer's bag.  
  
  
When Praktash was done, Graznikh and Sulmurz dragged the bound Kraash over and dumped him at Záhovar's feet with angry growls.  
”Hope ya enjoy dying,” Sulmurz snarled in his ear and spat him in the face.  
”Let me,” Graznikh begged Záhovar as he drew his knives. ”I won't give the bastard a quick death, I promise ya.”  
”Death?” Záhovar murmured. A sadistic little smile played upon her lips as she studied Kraash, and he actually smelled a little frightened as he peered up at her. ”That seems too great a mercy for one such as he.”  
”We _were_ goin' to run twice as hard from now on,” Praktash said. ”Tie him to the saddle an' slit his heel tendons, see how long he keeps up after.” He blushed a little as Margzat shot him a surprised but approving leer.  
”Tempting,” Záhovar said, ”but I fear that may slow us down. And I have no intention of killing him just yet.”   
Kraash's expression turned hopeful at those words and he grinned a little. ”Knew ya couldn't get enough o' me.”  
”Oh, _I_ have had my fill. But the others may not.” She looked at Graznikh, Sulmurz and Margzat in turn. ”Pull his claws out; he will be opash-snaga for the remainder of the journey. Do not kill or maim him, but anything short of that is sanctioned.”  
Ghakû's face fell and Kraash frowned as if he hadn't quite heard what she said. He did not start screaming until after the Uruks had caught him.  
”Hey, Bukrazikh?” Margzat called. ”Got any tongs?”  
”Only a small one,” Praktash replied. ”Not strong enough to pull out claws.”  
”Right...” Margzat rumbled with a thoughtful frown. Then he grinned. ”Guess we'll hafta get creative then.”  
”Got any nails?” Sulmurz asked.  
”Nails?” Margzat frowned. ”What for?”  
”Oh, just a thought. But if there're none...”  
”I got nails for the horseshoes,” Urkhish said.  
”Yeah, those'll do nicely,” Sulmurz said with a leer. ”Don't need that many. Two'll do. Now we need a sturdy piece o' string too...”  
”How 'bout this?” Graznikh handed him a spare bowstring. ”Now I'm curious.”  
”Great! Now here's what we'll do...” Sulmurz held up a nail. ”Hammer this through the claw, near where it's stuck in the finger. Then ya put the string 'round it, like so... Then ya pull hard!”

Kraash struggled to get free as Sulmurz leered at him; he was sweating profusely and reeked of fear.  
”Fucking turncoat snaga!” he snarled. ”I thought we were pals!”  
”I'm not pals with a shitsmear like you,” Sulmurz growled back. ”What the _fuck_ were ya thinking with this idiot act?! Ya knew the rules when we set out; I bloody told 'em to yer face! _You_ made the decision not to follow 'em. This is all yer _own_ bloody fault.”  
Kraash began to spit curses at him, but nobody cared. Draumaturz and Mûrnaluzh were busy splitting a log with Drauma's sword; when they were done, they had a crude but functioning flat surface. Urkhish picked out suitable nails and weighed his smithing hammer in his hand right in front of the increasingly desperate Kraash.  
”Right,” Margzat said loudly. ”Let's get this party started!”  
Kraash howled as the Uruks slammed him down on the split log face first and grabbed his hands.  
”I'll kill ya for this,” he snarled at Záhovar. ”I'll fucking kill ya, ya spunk-guzzling little arse-licker!!”  
Graznikh squatted in front of him. ”Did you actually just threaten my master?” he asked softly. ”Did you really just bloody _threaten_ one o' the Three? D'you _want_ to be a plaything for the Nazgûl, or what?”  
”I distinctly remember saying that there would be no maiming or killing,” Záhovar said to herself. ”That may change.”  
Kraash's only reply was a wordless, frantic bellow. Soon his howls and screams echoed through the forest as he was brutally declawed.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Záhovar sings is ”The Raven” by Rebecca Pidgeon.


	7. Fields of Gold

”Only two at a time,” Záhovar said sternly after they let Kraash go. ”If you cannot agree amongst yourselves, then krîtar Margzat will make a schedule.”  
”So am I supposed to waste healin' salve and such on him now?” Praktash asked.  
”Not unless his injuries are life-threatening.”  
”Everythin' could be life-threatenin'... But I get it. I'll save it for when it's _really_ life-threatenin'.”  
”What do we do with his weapons?” Lîrnash asked.  
”Leave them on one of the pack horses for now. Time and his behavior will tell whether they should be returned to him or not.”  
”Did she _have_ to punish him like _this?_ ” Sulmurz whispered to Graznikh. ”What's wrong with good ol'-fashioned flaying or some such?”  
”Didn'tcha hear? He's not supposed to die from it.”  
”And getting repeatedly gang-banged by Uruks won't kill him?!”  
”Not if they know what's good for 'em.”  
”Yeah,” Sulmurz muttered, reeking with distress. ”Real good. Wonderful.” Graznikh gave him a quizzical look but refrained from digging deeper.

Kraash and Ghakû kept to themselves as much as they could from then on. It did not help much; as soon as they stopped for the first breather, Ghrazagh and Lîrnash jumped Kraash and did not even care to drag him out of the camp before tearing his loincloth off. Praktash watched their activities with an almost lovesick look, sucking on his lower lip and purring madly.  
”Go join 'em, if ye're that eager,” Margzat purred at him.  
”You heard her,” Praktash replied absently. ”Only two at a time.”  
”Right...”  
”You an' me, next time..?”  
Margzat frowned. ”What?”  
Praktash sighed. ”Him below, you on top, me in the middle!”  
”...Right!” Margzat's sudden leer made Praktash inch away, murmuring that they still had a long road ahead of them and that he needed to be able to walk.  
Sulmurz on the other hand had bolted the moment he understood what was about to happen. Graznikh found him behind a bush with his hands pressed to his ears and his eyes squeezed shut. He let out a shrill squeak as Graznikh jokingly grabbed his shoulders from behind.  
”Will ya stop doing that?!” he roared.   
Graznikh frowned. ”That was the first time.”  
”Well, just stop!”   
Graznikh watched him pace the clearing with a thoroughly disturbed look. ”What's _up_ with you? It's not like they're doing _you._ ”  
”I just don't want it in my face like this!”  
”Then look away! You start runnin' for the bushes every time they jump him, someone might get the wrong idea 'bout why you're doing it.”  
Sulmurz stopped to glare at Graznikh. ”That _Uruk_ 'll get the wrong idea, ya mean.”  
”Oh, fuck off! He hasn't laid a finger on ya since Thaurband, just give it up! Even the snuffler's got more guts than you.”  
”The _fuck_ did you just say?!”  
”You heard me,” Graznikh sneered. ”What'cha gonna do about it?”  
Sulmurz snarled and clutched the hilt of his scimitar, but then his hand relaxed and he shook his head. ”This is none o' yer business.”  
”I'll _make_ it my business if I have to.”  
”Well, ya don't!”  
”Leave him.” Graznikh and Sulmurz both spun in the direction of Záhovar's voice and fell silent as she approached. She still limped a little from the wound in her leg. Her cold eyes wandered over Graznikh briefly before focusing on Sulmurz. ”You know full well what he did. An eye for an eye; it is no more than he deserves.”  
”Wasn't saying anything else,” Sulmurz mumbled. ”I'd just prefer it if they didn't go about it in the middle o' the camp. Seein' balls everywhere bloody ruins my appetite.”  
Záhovar arched an eyebrow. ”Appetite for what?”  
Sulmurz somehow managed to blush and blanch at the same time. ”Everything!”  
Záhovar did not inquire further upon the subject, but gave both Orcs a teasing little leer before leaving.  
”That one,” Graznikh murmured and pointed after her, ”needs more cock.”  
  
Surprisingly, Kraash was still able to walk afterwards, albeit with great difficulty.  
”I'm gonna kill ya,” he snarled as he scrambled onto his warg. ”I'll kill you all! And _you,_ ” he growled at Záhovar, ”you'll be beggin' for death afore I'm done with ya! I'll fuck ya 'til yer eyes bleed!!”  
”You're really asking for it,” Graznikh commented. ”I'd like to see ya try.”  
”What, repeat the last time? No fucking problem! I'll-” Kraash did not get further. Ghakû had grabbed his shield with both hands and brought it down on his head, knocking him unconscious.  
”I'm not gonna say anything 'bout the opa-snaga business,” the old Orc grunted as he lifted his accomplice back onto the warg and tied him in place, ”but I'd rather he didn't kill himself just yet. Good learning experience for him, this.”  
”And how the fuck's he ever gonna learn anything when ya knock all experience outta him at the first sign o' trouble?” Sulmurz asked.  
Ghakû chuckled mirthlessly. ”If I hadn't done that, then none o' this woulda happened.”  
”Are we done?” Záhovar asked curtly.  
”Aye, Lug-durbatar,” Ghakû said with a gesture that might have been a salute. ”All set'n ready to go.”  
”Then we march.”   
  
”So, how was the deer?” Praktash asked Draumaturz with a teasing grin as they stopped for a breather after a particularly exhausting run.  
”Bit salty,” Draumaturz replied and handed him a drinking skin. ”Y'know how it is.”  
”Can't say I do,” Praktash snickered after taking a swig. ”What's fuckin' a deer like?” The sudden silence from the others was deafening.  
”That's none o' your fucking business,” Draumaturz growled as he snatched the skin back.  
”I'd say that fuckin' _is_ my business,” Praktash quipped after washing down the water with some ghâshpau.   
”Then maybe I should ride your arse next, see if there's any difference!”  
”Sure... Mind if I take a nap durin'? I doubt I'd feel anythin' anyway, might as well get some shut-eye while I'm down.” That drew a chorus of laughter from the others.  
”That'll be mutual,” Draumaturz sneered with a half-hidden nod towards Margzat.   
Praktash snickered at that. ”What, you fuck in your sleep?”  
”That's not what I meant!”  
”Don't ever let 'im spoon ya, 's all I'm saying,” Golnauk muttered while rewrapping his bleeding foot.  
”Fuck off!” Mûrnaluzh snarled. ”You bloody rubbed up against me! The fuck was I to think?”  
”You were _snoring._ ”  
Draumaturz shot Praktash a venomous look as the healer exploded with laughter. The snaga snickered and a few of the other Uruks snorted and guffawed as well; Margzat kept chuckling despite his attempts to remain serious. Even Záhovar smirked a little and shared a look with her snickering body guard.  
”Deer, eh?” Graznikh said as they prepared to move again. ”That reminds me of a guy I used to know in Dunland.” He mounted his horse with a groan. Meanwhile, Záhovar commanded Margzat to help her mount, since her leg still hurt.  
”Not like that!” she snapped and he quickly pulled his hands away from her waist. ”Around my hips. And stop being so squeamish; it is not as though you haven't seen them before.”  
Margzat shot Praktash a venomous look as the latter collapsed in a sobbing and snickering heap on the ground. Then his face turned completely black as he placed his huge hands where Záhovar had instructed and lifted her up onto the horse's back.  
”Well, _someone'_ s a bloody virgin,” Graznikh murmured merrily as Margzat stiffly walked away and roughly pulled the hopelessly laughing healer to his feet.  
”Do tell,” Záhovar murmured back after giving the order to move.  
”I'm thinkin' I heard somethin' about a story,” Margzat growled as he unfastened his whip to let off some steam on the slowpokes in the uzhâk.  
”Well... I don't think I could do his story justice,” Graznikh replied with a lopsided grin. ”Better that I use his own words.” He cleared his throat and struck up a rather catchy tune with his gravelly voice.  
  
”When I was a young man I used to like girls;  
I'd tickle their bodies and play with their curls.  
But my girlfriend ran off with a bastard named Bruce  
Now, you'd never be treated that way by a moose!  
  
Whenever I feels I'm in need of a lay  
I goes to my cupboard and gets me some hay.  
I leans out my window and spreads it around  
'Cause a moose always comes when there's hay on the ground!

And it's moose, moose, I likes a moose,  
I've never had anything quite like a moose.  
I've had many women, my life has been loose  
But I've never had anything quite like a moose!”

Praktash had just collected himself but exploded again at hearing the song and nearly fell over. Margzat caught him, but began to laugh as well in the process. Ghrazagh and Lîrnash were laughing so hard that they had to lean on each other to keep running. A few of the others began to beat their armour and stomp along with the rhythm. Záhovar's horse grew unruly but the pack horses were too listless to react with more than a few pinned ears and tossed heads.

”I've done it with all sorts of beasties with hair  
I'd do it with snakes if their fangs wasn't there!  
I've had me a chicken, a duck and a goose  
But I've never had anything quite like a moose!  
  
The neighbour's poor donkey on yesterday night,  
Wolverines and leopards, they puts up a fight!  
But it just ain't the same when you slams their caboose  
As the feeling you get when you're humping a moose!”

Zosh squealed with laughter and chimed in as he reached the second chorus.  
”Now quietly, quietly... Just SHUT UP!!” Graznikh bellowed. The others fell quiet surprisingly fast. Then he began to sing again, much quieter and slower than before:  
  
”Now I am old ... and increasing in years  
I looks on my past, and I sheds me no tears...”  
  
He took a deep breath and started singing faster and louder:

”I just sits in my chair with a mug full o' booze,  
Playing Hide the Meat Sausage with Minnie the Moose!  
  
And it's moose, moose, I likes a moose,  
I've never had anything quite like a moose.  
I've fucked men and women, my life has been loose  
But I've never fucked anything quite like a moose!!”

The rest of the group joined in as he bellowed out the last chorus. Calls came for more songs and Graznikh quickly exhausted his narrow repertoire. Luckily for him, Ghakû had a few of his own including one that was a rather nasty jab at Uruks and their whips. The Uruks replied in kind with a few songs of their own. Slowly the trees thinned out and when the last song was sung, there was nothing but flat, grass-covered ground before them and cloudy sky above. Spirits were high and their hoots and roars rang out across the empty savannah.  
  
A quiet rain had been drizzling down for most of the night, but held up as they made camp the following morning. The Orcs and Uruks hid in their tents at the first sign of the rising Sun, but Záhovar felt restless and decided to stay up. They had lit no fire; not only would the smoke be seen for miles and attract unwanted attention, there was also no fuel to be had on the savannah other than grass, so she had decided that they save what little fuel they had gathered at the forest's edge. The rations would be eaten cold until they reached the other side.  
 _This is as much a desert as the one in the south,_ she thought. _Only covered with grass instead of sand._ She left the camp and walked out onto the plain. It was not completely flat, she noticed; here and there the land rose and fell slightly, the tops of the low hills eroded and bare. _Remnants of hills and swamps of ages past, perhaps?_ She knew that Ghakû had taken up his watch on one of them on the other side of camp, but she had no wish for company. A light wind blew from the West, making the damp grass billow and bow. _Not a desert, then... More like a sea.  
_ After a while, she found a strange pattern in the grass. It looked as though someone had drawn a log here and there through it and Záhovar followed it out of idle curiosity. A soft, rattling hiss caught her attention and she looked up. The track ahead was empty but as she turned her head to the side, she found herself staring into the large, golden eyes of a snake. The thin, dark brown lines and dots that made up the pattern on its beige and olive green scaly hide made it blend in perfectly with the grass. Its head was easily the same size as her own and from what little she could see, its thick, scaly body was probably longer than all the Uruks put together. She could see the skin at its neck flatten slightly, as though it could be expanded; at the back of the neck there was a bony, jagged ridge that ran down its spine.

The giant snake lifted its head until it was level with her eyes and stared at her without blinking. Záhovar was unsure whether she should retreat or challenge it in an attempt to frighten it, but doubted that she would survive the attempt if she failed the latter. The snake's forked, dark brown tongue flicked the air, tasting her scent, no doubt trying to discern whether she was friend or foe. The more Záhovar looked into those eyes, the more certain she became that this was no mere beast, but a sentient, intelligent creature. _Wyrm._ She decided to gamble.  
”<I greet thee,>” she hissed quietly in the Black Speech, slowly lifting a hand to touch her forehead. The answer came not from the wyrm's mouth, but sent straight into her head.  
”<Scales and legs.>” These were not words in any spoken tongue but a collection of images, feelings and the imagining of senses, but the meaning behind it was the same. The wyrm felt amused, but also annoyed. ”<Treading, stomping... Weaving.>” For a brief moment the earth seemed to shake with the thunder of hooves and heavy Uruk feet, then it faded into a whisper as Záhovar's own feet approached. Suddenly her mouth filled with the taste of Orc flesh, bitter and unpalatable. The wyrm had little interest in either of them as food, but would avenge any further disturbances. Záhovar did her best to assure it that this would not happen and that they meant to leave as soon as night fell. The wyrm's golden eyes narrowed and the answer in Záhovar's head was as clear as if it had spoken the threat out loud; ”<I will be watching you.>”

  
Záhovar hurried back to camp once the wyrm let her go. She quietly woke Margzat up, told him of the encounter and imposed upon him the exact importance of keeping things quiet for as long as they remained in the area. Since nobody wanted to be snake food, no matter how unpalatable, both Orcs and Uruks were quieter when they woke up than they had been while sleeping. They quickly packed up and ate on the trail.  
”Did you say 'snake'?” Graznikh asked in a hushed voice once he had urged his horse up next to hers. ”A _talking_ snake?”  
”Why do you find it so strange? Wargs speak as well, when they care for it.”  
”Yeah, but... they're with us. It's different.”  
”This was no ordinary snake. It was a wyrm.”  
”What's a wyrm?”  
”They go by many names, and are more commonly known as drakes or dragons.”  
”I thought dragons had wings and puked fire,” Sulmurz said.  
”Some do,” Záhovar replied, ”but not all. As far as I have read, there is no way of telling whether the dragon in a specific egg will breathe fire or not, nor whether it will have wings or legs or even what size it will be once it reaches adulthood. The same hatch can contain all different kinds. And few ever reach the size of the great dragons of old. I believe dragon-breeding is a business even more unprecise than the breeding of Uruks,” she added with a smirk.  
”Yeah, 'cause that's all we are,” Praktash snorted. ”Bloody breedin' material.”  
”Don't like it, Ghâshkaum?” Golnauk leered. ”You'll change yer mind once you've been in the breedin' pits a few times.”  
”I've already been there, an' more than a few times.”  
Draumaturz's face fell. ”What?! Why the fuck did they let _you_ down there before me?!”  
”I wasn't _breedin'_ , you lump-faced moron! I'm a drugdealer, remember? Flesh-knitter an' all that.”  
”Why'd they need a flesh-knitter for?”  
Zosh let out a groan. ”He's really that bright for real, inn'e?”  
”He sure is,” Praktash chuckled. ”Should you or I tell them?”  
”They're not gonna sleep tomorrow if we do.”  
”Don't worry, there's nothin' like a good rut to slake your brains. An' now we have an opa-snaga! Problem solved.”  
”Or two,” Ghrazagh muttered.  
”Fuck off, Rope-head!”  
”Keep it down,” Margzat rumbled.  
”So why _do_ they need a healer in the pits?” Draumaturz asked. After Praktash made a 'be-my-guest' gesture to Zosh, she gave a vivid and gory description of the process of child-birth and the complications that may arise. This effectively killed all further questioning on the topic. Several of the Uruks were noticeably paler than before and Draumaturz looked like he was going to be sick.  
  
Záhovar called for a breather as Mikbork returned from scouting ahead. Praktash took the time to check on Akûl's wounds and Sulmurz watered the horses and wargs with what little water was left in the large skins that hung from one of the pack saddles.  
”Anything?” Graznikh asked as he spotted him.  
Mikbork shook his head. ”Not a drop'n not a trace.”  
”Skai...” Graznikh winced and looked at Záhovar. She was discussing something with Margzat and looked rather annoyed. _Knowing how she usually looks, I'd wager she's pissed as shit. There goes my pardon..._ She glanced at him as he approached and waved Margzat off; the krîtar left with a salute, looking relieved.  
”Report.”  
”Not a sign o' the road anywhere. We're way off track.”  
”And..?”  
” _And_ we're running outta water.”  
”How in the name of Lugburz did you manage to lose an entire road?”  
”It wasn't all that big in the first place! We saw it easily enough in the woods where it was clear cut, but out here t'was little more than a pair o' wheel tracks. _Overgrown_ wheel tracks. Easy to miss, if ya don't look for 'em.”  
”Easy to..!” Záhovar turned away with a growl, and Graznikh could not keep from smiling a little while she had her back turned. _Still sounding like a leopard kitten, âmbal._ He carefully arranged his face back to neutral when she turned back.  
”So to conclude: we are lost, at least a week away from the nearest water source or settlement, and we are running out of water. Do we have enough to last us the way back to Ruzh Moraut?”  
”No idea; Sulmurz was checking on the... Right; here he is.”  
”Not enough to keep the horses goin',” Sulmurz reported as he appeared beside Graznikh. ”They're easy enough to keep, seeing as there's grass everywhere, but they drink a lot. Same with the wargs, only they need to hunt too.”  
”Then give them less water.”  
”Can't do that, not if we want to keep 'em from dropping dead.”  
”Told ya the nags were a bad idea,” Graznikh muttered.  
”Do you wish to carry the pack saddles in their stead?” Záhovar asked dryly. ”I thought as much,” she added as Graznikh shook his head. Then she looked up towards the overcast sky. ”If only these clouds were to disperse... I could have taken out directions according to the stars. Alas, we do not have that kind of luck.”  
Graznikh looked up as well, but saw nothing but clouds. ”So what do we do then? Stand here and wait for better weather?”  
Záhovar looked down and shook her head. ”Leave me.”  
  
”Bit o' a long breather, this,” Golnauk commented quietly.  
”Bet we're lost,” Mûrnaluzh muttered.  
”Shut up,” Margzat growled. ”'S not yer place to question.” He nodded to Graznikh as he passed. ”Lug-snaga. Any orders?”  
”For now it's 'keep away',” Graznikh grunted. He slumped down beside Praktash who lay stretched out on the ground using a tuft of grass for a pillow. He threw a glance at Mikbork and Zosh; the little Orcs kept to themselves and were having a very serious discussion about what looked like an anthill. Graznikh almost began to regret bringing Zosh along. Sure, she had taken a load of snaga work off his back, but their contentment kept invading his nostrils, ears and eyes and reminded him of all the things he no longer had. _Me and Whin used to be like that, just fooling around, not a care in the world. Things were so bloody simple back then._ He could not help but wonder if they would ever get close to what they had had again, and if there was a way for him to steer things in that direction. The first, rough sketch of a plan began to take form in his mind. _But not yet. I need the bond back first, even if I have to take it back at knife-point once this mission's over'n done with._  
Záhovar returned after a short while and gave the order to move. She gave no further explanation as to why they were not turning back or how she could be so certain of the way all of a sudden, and Graznikh wondered if she was gambling with their lives out of pure stubbornness. But no one had the lack of sense to voice any protests, so onwards they went.  
  
  
A few nights later, Graznikh woke up first of all and took a stroll to clear his head. The savannah looked the same as before and he began to fear that they would roam this wasteland until their bitter end. He was so busy glaring at the horizon that he did not hear Akûl sneak up on him; he let out a surprised yelp as the warg bumped its nose against his back.   
”Skai, watch it, pup! I coulda bloody knifed ya!” Akûl let out a wheezing laugh at his disgruntled rider, then limped off. Graznikh scrambled to his feet and followed him. ”So how's the leg? Praktash didn't mess ya up too bad, did he?”  
Akûl dismissively shook his mane and sniffed the ground.   
”Alright then,” Graznikh chuckled and gave him a pat. ”Off ya go.” _Tough one,_ he thought as he watched the warg limp about. _Not as rowdy as his sire, but that's a good thing. I doubt Zuzar woulda stayed put in that travois.  
_ The wind picked up as he walked, lost in his own thoughts. A strange scent pulled him out of them and he sniffed the wind with a frown. _Smells like... Grass? But there's grass everywhere; why is this one so different?_  
Akûl suddenly disappeared over a low hill. Graznikh did not care to look for him at first, but the sudden excited howl made him jump and run in the warg's direction, thinking him injured. When he found him on the other side of the hill, he also found something that made him fall flat on his belly and stare with an astonished grin.   
”It's a plateau,” he realised. ”We're not on a plain; we're on a plateau!”  
Before his eyes, the savannah made a right angle turn downwards. What was first a sheer drop slowly levelled out into a vast flood-plain at the bottom of an even larger valley, lush and probably green in daylight, but for the moment it was coloured in deepening shades of blue as the light faded and the Moon rose above the horizon. He could see a small herd of unfamiliar animals grazing far below, mere specks from where he lay. They were not far from the road either; it crisscrossed down along a place where the cliff had once collapsed, making it less steep than it was elsewhere. And most importantly, there was water; a broad river meandered lazily through the center of the valley, lined by copses of trees and veritable forests of reeds. But there were no villages, something that Graznikh found odd. _I've never known tarks or shara for passing up a perfectly good place to settle. It's probably packed full with midges._ He also thought the river widened further north, or perhaps it fed a lake of some sort.  
”Good find!” Graznikh grinned as he stood. ”Let's go tell the others.”  
  
The others were up and about when Graznikh returned to camp.  
”See?” Praktash exclaimed. ”I told you he didn't ditch us!”  
Graznikh only chuckled and went straight for Záhovar. She stood with her arms crossed and a stern look on her face. Graznikh did not care for that; he held up a claw to stop her as she opened her mouth to speak, flung an arm around her waist and pulled her close. At first, she was so flustered that she could not speak.  
”What..? What?!”  
”Your snaga and his warg's been of use for once,” he purred and nuzzled her neck with a smug grin. ”Come on, I've got something to show ya!”  
”I have no time for this,” she said coolly. ”Now that the sky is clear, we can finally find proper bearings; your antics have only slowed us down.”  
Graznikh's face fell. ”Antics? Now wait just a moment here-”   
”Unless you have forgotten, we have a task to accomplish,” Záhovar hissed. She clearly meant to say more, but Graznikh interrupted her.  
”Will you bloody listen to me?! You don't _need_ any bearings; I found the road and I found our goal! No need to bloody thank me.” With that, he pushed her away with a growl and stomped over to the other side of camp.   
Praktash was the first to break the silence that followed. ”A word, master?”  
Záhovar nodded after a while of looking after her snaga with cold eyes. Praktash nodded towards the open plain and followed as she took the lead. Once they were out of hearing range from the camp, she stopped. ”What do you want?”  
”You don't know that already?” Praktash asked and nodded for them to keep moving. They walked slowly as they argued. ”That was a dick move, an' I'm not usin' it as a compliment.”  
Záhovar's eyes narrowed. ”You would dare-”  
”Yeah, I would! We have an agreement, remember? An' you made a _promise,_ both to him an' to me!”  
”A promise where I lose!”  
”Sometimes you gotta lose a little to win more in the long run!”  
”That makes no sense! _He_ walked straight into an ambush and slowed us down in the first place. _He_ keeps fussing over me needlessly. And now he slows us down again, and for what?”  
Praktash glanced to the side. ”For that.”  
Záhovar looked in his direction and did a double take as she spotted the valley.   
Praktash leaned forward with a telling smile to whisper in her ear. ”Are you _sure_ his 'antics' were for nothin'..?”  
”Perhaps not,” Záhovar admitted after a while. ”But this find is hardly changing much. I would have found the right way even without this knowledge.”  
Praktash peered down towards the river. ”But we would've run outta water. Knowin' where we're goin' doesn't matter if we die before we get there. If you'd just listened to him in the first place instead of bein' a stuck-up little bitch, you wouldn'ta pissed him off all over again.” He started laughing after throwing a look at Záhovar's face. ”You really don't know how to look angry! Quit goin' all hissy on me, I'm just callin' it like I see it!”  
”This is not my fault!!”  
”Sure is; you're the leader. You pick the path. _But,”_ he quickly added as tiny tendrils of shadow began to seep out of the ground all around him, ”you don't have to do this alone. Graz is able, you know that. So a bit of advice, if you care; quit usin' him as a punchin' bag. That's what Sully's for.”  
Záhovar's anger abated a little and she crossed her arms while studying the river valley, deep in thought. Praktash closed in behind her and rested his hands on her shoulders for a while. Then he left without a word.

  
Margzat was busy handing out rations when Záhovar returned.   
”Where is my Lug-snaga?” she asked.  
Margzat nearly choked on the piece of ration he was chewing before swallowing it to reply. ”Off by the wargs.” He threw a glance at Praktash as the High Officer left; the drugdealer watched her leave with a concerned little frown.  
Graznikh had found a mound that was slightly higher than the others, but not by much. There he squatted with his back towards camp, staring off into the distance while tearing chucks off the ration with his teeth. He started a little as he heard footsteps, but resettled when he recognised the one making them. ”What's my fault this time?”  
”Nothing.”   
He snorted. ”Sure...”  
”I could make something up, if you like.”  
Graznikh shot up and turned to face her. ”How the _fuck_ did you ever become a High Officer?!” he hissed, struggling to keep his voice down and the furious growl out of it. ”Didn't they ever teach ya how not to make enemies outta every last bastard you meet?”  
”I was not trained to be a diplomat.”  
”Then what were you fucking trained to be?!”  
”Do you truly want me to answer that?”  
”Did you come here to _joke_ with me?!”  
”No.”  
”Then why the _fuck-_ ” His voice broke when he could no longer control the growl and he began to cough. Záhovar waited patiently until he was done. Then he continued; ”Why did ya come here then?”  
”To ask for your advice.”  
When Graznikh straightened up again, his face was a study in disbelief, suspicion and anger. ”You what..? Why?”  
Záhovar met his gaze with the same impassive face she almost always wore. ”Why not?”  
”That's no proper answer.” He cocked his head, eyes narrowing. ”Now my thoughts matter to you, all of a sudden? Why?”  
Záhovar was silent for a moment, then she broke eye contact. ”I saw the valley you found, and... you were right. I should have listened to you. What is more, I let my frustration over this predicament take over and let you field that outlet unfairly. I owe you an apology, and more.”  
Graznikh hesitated. ”And more..?”  
She met his gaze again. ”This situation is ultimately my responsibility, and would not have happened had I not been... inept. You are clearly a better pathfinder than I am, and thus I want to know your thoughts on how to proceed.”  
”So you can have a legitimate reason to dump yer temper on me the next time?”  
”No, so that the chances of a 'next time' might grow slimmer.”  
Graznikh could hardly believe his own ears. ”I'm gonna regret this, aren't I?”  
”I am no more capable of seeing into the future than you are.”  
He chuckled a little. ”I wonder why ya lost that? Bloody hilarious, it was.”  
Záhovar frowned. ”What?”  
”Nar, 's nothing. So do I have free hands to pick the path from now on?” He glanced at her. ”And how much of this talk was Praktash speaking through ya?”  
Záhovar had opened her mouth to reply, but froze. ”Not... all of it,” she eventually replied.  
Graznikh chuckled. ”That one's too good for both of us, ya know that right?”  
”Where else should he be?”  
”I didn't say you should send him away!” Then he noticed her teasing little smile. ”Oh, you little..! Skai shaturz nashra!”  
”Let us return,” Záhovar said quietly. ”We have already lost precious darkness.”  
  
The entire group picked up on the change of mood and adjusted accordingly; everyone was noticeably merrier as they picked up to leave.  
”So ye're back, huh?” Ghakû grunted. ”Done with sulking?”  
”Wasn't sulking,” Graznikh growled, but the old Orc only chuckled.  
”I might be inclined to believe ya if you didn't look like I'd just kicked yer puppy.”  
”Feelin' better?” Praktash asked.  
”I woulda, but Ol' Grouchy over there just took the fun right outta it. I still feel like punching something though, so he might wanna watch his wagging tongue afore it gets him into trouble.”  
”Now now, let's not go there,” Ghakû muttered. Graznikh did not retort; he was too busy glancing at Záhovar to listen.  
”Skai, what a lady!” Sulmurz purred. ”How come you get all the lip?”  
Praktash shone up at that, but remembered his restrictions and resorted to whispering his thoughts to Margzat instead. ”I've got all the lip he could ask for!” The krîtar grinned and ruffled his hair; Praktash growled and tried to bite his hand without success.  
”Feel free to muck up,” Graznikh growled. ”Just be ready to have your toes frozen off while hanging upside down on a wall.”  
Sulmurz frowned. ”But... there're no walls here.”  
”Trust me; if you ever manage to piss her off enough to make her want to do that to ya, she'll have the rest of us _build_ one.”  
  
After a short ride, Golnauk suddenly frowned and looked down. ”Anyone else feel that?”  
”Feel what?” Graznikh asked.  
”Ground's shakin'.”  
”Whazz happening?!” Zosh exclaimed with a frightened look.  
”Skai, earthquake!” Margzat growled. ”Get down or get toppled!”  
Ghakû shook his head. He went down on all fours and pressed his mangled ear to the ground. When he got back up, he looked concerned. ”Not an earthquake; those're hooves making that noise.”  
Záhovar's eyes widened. ”Wainriders...”  
Graznikh looked up. ”The what now?”  
”There is no time! Krîtar; help me into the saddle! The rest of you will pack up and prepare to run, and be quick about it!”  
Everyone hurried to obey the High Officer's command. As they did so, a dust cloud appeared on the horizon and grew steadily larger.  
”The fuck is that?” Graznikh asked as he climbed onto the pack horse after securing Akûl to the travois.  
”The Wainriders,” Záhovar explained. She gave the order to run before continuing. ”They are nomads, Men who travel the vast eastern plains and never stay for long in one place. Called so for the great wagons that carry their belongings, they also make use of lighter carts with spikes wheels, drawn by fast horses with steel-shod hooves. These they use in battle, throwing spears with sticks at great force and crushing any enemy in their path.”  
”Good! I could use a fight,” Graznikh muttered, but Záhovar shook her head.  
”I daresay you do not wish to fight these Men. The Wainriders believe in strength in numbers; whatever the size of this particular group, they greatly outnumber us.”  
”The shaking ground kinda gave that away. I'm not that stupid. Guess our best bet is to get over the edge and down into that valley; they won't be able to go in force on the way down.” He pointed in the direction of the road. ”Whaddya say?”  
”That sounds like a plan.”  
”Eh, lads?” Sulmurz said, but was ignored by everyone.  
”You didn't say it was a good one.”  
”How could I know? So far there are no alternatives.”  
”Guys? M'lady?”  
Graznikh gave Záhovar an incredulous look. ”Is this a bet or something? We're all supposed to throw whatever thought we have at ya and let you pick'n choose?”  
”Anyone?!”  
Záhovar smirked. ”That may be-”  
”Oi, _bagshatîgatâr!!_ ” Sulmurz yelled. Surprised snarls were heard from the Uruks; Praktash jumped and nearly crashed into Urkhish, Graznikh almost fell off his startled horse but managed to cling to the pack saddle with his claws. Záhovar's horse knocked Draumaturz and Mûrnaluzh to the ground as it bolted through the uzhâk, but she soon regained control and trotted back.  
”What is the meaning of this?!” she hissed.   
Sulmurz swallowed hard; his legs trembled as the High Officer's gaze bore into him, but he eventually found his tongue once more. ”They're gettin' closer!”  
One look at the dust cloud told them all that he was right; a large force had appeared at its head, moving towards them at speed. It was all it took to send the entire group running for the edge of the river valley. Once there, they followed the cliff towards the road; it felt as though it kept evading them, mocking their feeble attempts to reach safety.  
”Why the fuck're they after us?!” Graznikh panted. He had had enough of bouncing his balls to a pulp on the pack horse's back and ran alongside Záhovar's horse instead. ”You said the Rhûnlanders served the Eye!”  
”The Rhûnlanders, yes,” Záhovar replied, ”but the Wainriders are not so easily subdued. Their recent break with the shoredwellers - their name for the sedentary citizens of the city-state of Rhûn – is one of the main reasons for the instability in that region. After all, they made up the major part of their army. The recent loss of their khagan and Khâmul have thrown them into disarray and led them to become increasingly isolationist, eventually disappearing altogether.”  
”Well, now we know where some of 'em are,” Praktash commented.  
”Bloody tark mindgames,” Graznikh growled.  
”They are _not_ tarks, and you would do well not to accuse any Rhûnlander of being such,” Záhovar snapped. ”Now hurry; there is the road.”  
The horses trotted down the steep, narrow road that wound to and fro along the windswept slope, followed by the Orcs on wargs with the Uruks making up the rearguard. War cries could be heard from above, but the wains stopped at the edge of the cliff. Margzat roared and lifted his shield as a spear broke against it, leaving a significant dent despite its thickness. More soon followed. ”Shields up'n to the back! Keep covered!”  
”Fuck this shit, just gimme my axe,” Kraash growled. ”I'll take their heads'n balls'n their horses' balls too!”  
”Or die trying,” Ghakû pointed out. ”Leave it lad, you can barely walk as it is.”  
Kraash shot Záhovar a look of pure hatred, reluctantly looking away only when Ghakû, Sulmurz and Graznikh all glared at him with bared fangs. Praktash eyed the exchange and thought he caught Mûrnaluzh doing the same for some reason, but the other Uruk only flashed his fangs at him and kept running.

  
Once they had entered the woods and reached the edge of the reed thickets, Záhovar called for a halt. Several of the Uruks fell to the ground, steaming and groaning from the run and the sunshine. Draumaturz looked particularly ill at ease; he crawled on all fours a few paces before throwing up noisily. Praktash wiped the sweat from his tattooed brow and went over to check on him.  
Meanwhile, Graznikh caught Mikbork and Zosh sniffing the air with wide eyes. ”What is it? Whaddya smell?”  
”Blood,” Mikbork murmured.  
”Food!” Zosh chirped.  
”There's some kind o' meat in there,” Mikbork explained and pointed towards the reeds. "Somethin' else too, but-" As Graznikh sniffed, he could smell it too; the delicious, rusty scent of a fresh carcass. ”Yeah, I can smell it. But let's keep out for now, we don't know what-... Hey!!”  
The starved warg pack merrily picked up the chase before the Orcs could stop them. There was a brief moment of silence as the reeds closed behind them, then the entire thicket began to shake and the wargs howled and bellowed in agony and fear; the kind of sounds that only dying animals could make. They were soon followed by the sound of breaking bones and wet squelches. Then all fell silent as the grave.  
”...Shit!” Sulmurz breathed.  
”The fuck just happened?!” Kraash squeaked.  
”They're _gone?_ ” Zosh exclaimed with a horrified look. ”Just like that?!”  
”I'm thinkin' we should steer clear o' those plants,” Margzat muttered.  
”You don't say,” Praktash replied. He twitched as the silence was broken by a mournful howl; Akûl voiced the loss of his pack over and over as the Sun slowly rose over the eastern edge of the valley. Graznikh sat by his side, clawing his fur. Praktash tried to look aloof but ultimately failed; he threw his dire mace to the ground and sank into a squat, hiding his face in his arms, shoulders shaking. Margzat watched him for a brief while, then he noticed the other Uruks doing the same and decided to spare him the jibes that would doubtlessly come.  
”Lug-durbatar, by yer leave..? Alright then boys, breather's over! Urkhish, Drauma; secure the area'n find us a place to set up camp. Don't go near the reeds, but I don't need to tell ya that, do I? Ghrazagh, Lîrnash; keep an eye on those cartmen. If they come down I wanna hear 'bout it. The rest o' ya, be ready in case whatever took th' wargs comes for us too. Got it? Then hop to it!”

Once the treacherous tears had stopped coming, Praktash quickly wiped his eyes and hoped that no one had taken too much notice. He watched Urkhish more or less drag the sun-sick Draumaturz out of camp. The others were already busy with warious little tasks that would make them look busy; Margzat did not shy from whip-work whenever necessary. The Orcs had ganged up around Akûl where Graznikh was busy giving them orders, but Praktash could not shake off the nagging feeling that something was amiss.  
”Hey, Graz?” he asked quietly as he approached.   
Graznikh looked up from the now silent Akûl. ”Aye?”  
”Where's Záhovar?”  
Graznikh shrugged. ”She was right... there..?” The more he looked around and the more alerted he became to his master's blatant absence, the more he seemed to lose his mind and dissolve into panic. Praktash barely had time to catch him when he made for the reeds with a yowl.  
”Buddy, calm down! She's not in there! D'ya hear me? She was right next to me when the wargs disappeared, she's not so stupid as to go after them. Buddy?”  
Graznikh stared at the reeds with wild eyes and made no sign of having heard him. ”Lost,” he hissed through gritted teeth. ”Gone, lost, _gone..._ ”   
Praktash began to feel afraid, and not only for Graznikh's sanity's sake. He looked up at Sulmurz. ”Well, don't just stand there gawkin'! Take the snuffler an' go search for her!”  
Sulmurz cocked his head with a sneer. ”And who made _you_ chief?”  
”Lug-durbatar did,” Margzat growled as he advanced upon the much smaller Orc. ”He's Lug-snaga'n you'll do as he says. 'At clear enough for ya?”  
”Fine, fine... Hey, Mikbork! Get yer nose to the ground.”  
Mikbork looked thoroughly shaken and reluctant to leave Zosh's side, but obeyed when Sulmurz made a move to grab him. Zosh remained where she stood, looking lost and frightened. She twitched a little when she noticed Praktash's poison-green eyes looking in her direction.  
”Hey, snaga? Zosh! Get over here, I need a hand or two.” After throwing one last glance in Mikbork's direction, she came over and stopped just out of reach. Praktash tried to give her an encouraging grin. ”Y'know where my stash is at? There's a clay jar in there, I think it's on the left side, sealed with wax. If you shake it it should sound like there's gravel inside. Fetch that, fill the copper pot with water an' bring it all here. Hold it!” he added with a growl when she took a step away. ”I know every bag, jar an' bottle in that stash by name. If anythin' else goes missin', I know who to shake out for it. We clear on that?”  
Zosh nodded. ”I'm not _that_ stoopid. Not right now.”  
”That's my snaga!” Praktash replied with a grin. ”Now off ya go!”   
  
Zosh was clearly not in the mood to get into trouble and soon returned with the asked-for things. Praktash instructed her to light a fire, mix a certain amount of the drug into the water, pull the pot off the fire the moment the water began to bubble at the bottom and leave it to soak for a certain amount of time. Once it was done, she filled Graznikh's mug and handed it to Praktash. Graznikh pinched his lips shut and turned his head away when Praktash tried to make him drink.  
”C'mon buddy, berserkin' won't help ya now.”  
”I don't care,” Graznikh growled.  
”Well, think about what Záhovar'll say when she returns an' you've killed all of us! If that won't make her go wraith-bitch on ya for real, I don't know what would.”  
Zosh snickered at that, but Graznikh gave him a contemptuous glance. ”I don't need that kind of talk right now!”  
”Seems to me like you do,” Praktash replied insolently. ”At least it keeps ya from tryin' to kill yourself.”  
”But why're ya pissed?” Zosh asked. ”Don'tcha just know where she is?”  
Both Graznikh and Praktash stared at her for a moment. Then Graznikh grinned a little. ”Figured that one out yourself, eh?”  
”'S just, ya sound like a pair o' ol' grumpy mates who hate each other but're stuck anyway,” Zosh said with a shrug. ”So I figured... was right though, wasn't I?”  
”Aye,” Graznikh replied and winced. ”I can't tell anymore though. She kinda cut the bond.”  
Praktash almost dropped the mug, but Graznikh took it from him before he could do so. ”She _what?!_ ”  
Graznikh nodded sourly as he emptied it. ”Or dulled it, I'm not sure. I guess that's what that ritual in Thaurband was for. She claims it's not permanent, but...” He winced again. ”It's not there _now,_ and now's when I bloody _need_ it!”   
”Oh fuck...” Praktash breathed. ”That's... not good. Not good at all!” He looked up as Sulmurz and Mikbork approached.   
”We found her trail,” Sulmurz reported, making a point of addressing Graznikh instead of Praktash, ”but it's faint. We've marked the spot so we know which way she went, and-”  
”Right then; let's go,” Graznikh said and began to get up. ”What the everlovin' _fuck?!_ ” he snarled as Praktash pulled him back down.  
”We're not goin' anywhere on our own!” Praktash snapped. ”Drauma, Urkhish, Ghrazagh an' Lîrnash're still out there, an' if those wainriders attack-”  
”If they attack, they'll do it on foot, and that's our territory,” Graznikh growled. ”Their fancy wagons won't be worth shit among the trees!”  
”They still outnumber us ten to one! If Záhovar was here we'd have a fightin' chance, but now...” He trailed off as Margzat dropped his shield beside them and squatted down. Praktash winced. ”Some trip, huh? We're fucked for real this time.”  
Margzat chuckled. ”Ya think I haven't seen bad odds get turned before? Last time I went into th' Desolation, we were thirty Uruks, seasoned warriors, armed to th' teeth at that. _Two_ came out alive to tell the tale.”  
The corner of Praktash's mouth twitched a little. ”You an'..?”  
”Garmadh,” Margzat replied.  
”Izzat how he got the face?” Graznikh asked.  
Margzat chuckled. ”Nar, 'at was from gettin' it dunked into oil at the forges. _Hot_ oil.”  
”Bet he deserved every bit of it,” Praktash muttered hotly. Margzat gave him a quizzical look which the green-eyed Uruk refused to acknowledge.  
”That doesn't make me feel a single bit better about here'n now,” Graznikh said in an attempt to change the subject.  
”All I'm sayin' is ya got the toughest bastards this side o' the Fence at yer back,” Margzat replied.   
”That doesn't mean shit when Záhovar's gone,” Graznikh growled. ”We go back without her, we're dead, doesn't matter how bloody tough you think you are!”   
”Gone's not dead,” Sulmurz muttered. ”I don't get what all this fuss is about.”  
”Perhaps the fact that if she doesn't come back, you lose your head?” Praktash growled, ignoring Margzat's lovesick little grin. Then he realised something. ”An' without her to protect ya, your arse is _mine!_ Y'know, maybe we should just leave her be for now. I've got some things to do first.”  
  
Sulmurz snorted with disdain, but did a double take as Praktash slowly rose to tower over him with an insane leer. Before he could do anything, however, the attention was rudely stolen by Urkhish and Draumaturz who returned with news. When he looked back, he found that Sulmurz had already bolted.  
”We found a clearing,” Urkhish reported. ”'S not too far upstream.”  
”The tracks lead downstream,” Graznikh muttered through gritted teeth, but Praktash hushed him.  
”Doesn't matter right now. Is it defensible?”  
Urkhish shrugged. ”Better than this spot.”  
”Let's go then,” Graznikh said, his voice and legs a little steadier as he stood up. ”Go tell the others we're moving, but have 'em keep an eye along the tree line. If those fuckers come down afore nightfall, I wanna hear about it. We'll hit them hard in the dark and leg it downstream while they're busy picking up the pieces.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summer's busy-busy! I'm still writing, but a little slower than before.
> 
> ”The Moose Song” - a rather naughty celtic folk song. I made some minor changes to make it not lore-breaking, but the heart of the song is the same.
> 
> Shaturz nashra – teasing woman


	8. Trick Or Treat?

The Orcs and Uruks were busy setting up camp and constructing makeshift fortifications when Lîrnash returned.  
”They're on the move,” he reported to Margzat. ”Coming down the slope as we speak.”  
”How many?” Graznikh asked.  
Lîrnash shook his head. ”Not sure, they're too far off. Ghrazagh's keeping an eye on 'em.”  
”Douse the fires,” Graznikh ordered. ”They need 'em more than we do.” The pack horses were left tied to some trees near the reeds, hopefully well out of reach of whatever murderous monster was hiding within. Akûl refused to stay that close to the reeds so Graznikh set him free. _I'd wager he's better off on his own anyway, in case the fighting gets serious._ As Margzat sent Lîrnash back with a filled waterskin, Graznikh glanced at the still red-stained sky. Night was not far off, but he judged that there was still enough light for Mannish spear throwers to aim with ease. Their simple greenwood pallisade could not hold back a serious assault, but it would be sufficient for shielding the movements of those behind it. Hopefully they could trick the enemy into thinking there were enough Orcs to leave well enough alone. _Don't go poking wasps' nests for fun, that's what Nana used to say. It'll only end with stings. Skai Záhovar... I hope you don't do anything that stupid!_   
Lîrnash had barely left the camp before he and Ghrazagh came running back. Everyone quickly took up position behind the barricades, but no attack came. The sound of approaching horses was replaced by an eerie silence.  
”The fuck?” Sulmurz breathed.   
”Hey, snuffler,” Graznikh whispered. ”Send 'em a fire arrow.”  
Mikbork nodded and tied some dry grass and twigs to an arrow, but the moment the first flame licked it a spear came whistling through a nearby opening and made him yelp. Several others followed, but none found the intended target. Graznikh cursed. _How the fuck did they see that?!_ He tried to peek out through the leaves, but saw nothing. When he looked back, Mikbork was gone.  
Suddenly a loud _clang_ was heard nearby, followed by a string of what could only be curses in a foreign tongue. Zosh had climbed a tree and was now lobbing rocks at the small group of enemy scouts that had crept up close to the fortification. Sulmurz, Urkhish and Ghrazagh let arrows fly in their direction and were rewarded with a yell of pain.  
”Ha! That'll keep 'em busy!” Sulmurz jeered.  
”Nice,” Graznikh leered. ”First blood! That'll teach 'em not to sneak.” It seemed to; the faint sound of retreating footsteps was soon heard, followed by the soft rumble of well-oiled cart wheels.  
  
For the next toll or so, spears kept hailing down on their position from the outskirts of the copse. The Orcs sent a few back with arrow-shaped interest but were nowhere close to hitting the little two-wheeled warcarts that darted back and forth on the higher ground. Instead, they dug themselves in in the hopes that the Wainriders would give up come nightfall. It was a dreary wait. Lîrnash and Ghrazagh returned when the Men began to advance on their position.  
”So... What do we do now?” Sulmurz asked. Graznikh was deep in thought and did not reply. Sulmurz frowned. ”Hey!”  
”Shut up, Sully,” Praktash told him.  
”I didn't ask _you,_ Uruk!”  
”But I answered. Deal with it an' shut up.”  
”Can't bloody well deal with it and shut up at the same time, now can I?”  
”Shuttin' up is a perfect way to deal with it!”  
”Shut up, _both_ o' ya! Not in the mood!” Graznikh snarled.  
”...Fine.  
”Alright then...”   
Some more time passed in depressed silence. Another spear hit a rock nearby with a 'chink'.  
”Looks like their aim's improvin',” Praktash commented.  
”They keep this up, they might hit one o' us within the next week or so.”  
Praktash snickered. ”Did we just agree on somethin'?”   
”Marvellous!” Sulmurz exclaimed and rolled his eyes. ”The time o' miracles've come again!”  
”Again? When was the last time?”  
”When I got laid by-”  
”Didn't I tell the both o' ya to shut up?! Situation's bad enough without us having to listen to your bickering!”  
”We weren't bickerin' this time,” Praktash pointed out.  
”Aye, and yer warg's still alive so what's yer complaint?” A warning growl made Sulmurz bolt for the uncertain safety on Ghakû's other side.   
”Now shut the fuck up,” Graznikh growled. ”Can't bloody hear if more sneak up on us with all yer yapping. Snuffler, get out there'n check what we're up against. Snaga, you do the same on the south side.”   
Zosh looked like she had not quite registered that he was speaking to her. Graznikh sighed as he drew one of his throwing knives and pushed it hilt first into her hand.  
”There. Don't throw it away. Now off ya go, we haven't got all night!”  
Margzat snorted with disdain as Zosh blinked a few times before disappearing into the underbrush. ”Should be in the pits, that one.”  
”Are you sayin' lord Zahovar made a mistake?” Praktash asked with a grin that widened as Margzat began to protest that he didn't mean it that way.   
”What's the point in having two snufflers but only using one?” Graznikh asked. ”She's crafty, that one. She'll do fine.”   
  
  
Záhovar had no idea where she was. She could not remember whether she had walked upstream or down, nor for how long a time she had done so. All was a blur around her, as though she was not truly there and watched the world through some kind of misty lens. Every heartbeat pumped liquid fire through her veins; her hair and nails felt as though they should be bleeding and burning and there was a searing pain at her throat. _I am failing. There is no walking out of this alive._ She looked down at her hands. _Why are my nails not falling off? It feels as though they should have done so long ago. What is happening to me?_  
The burning sensation grew stronger, just as it had that night in the royal bedchamber of Mûmakan long ago. For a moment she thought the same thing was about to happen to her now, but then a wave of blessed cold suddenly washed over her and drove all pain far away. Her breath came out in little white puffs and even the perspiration on her skin turned to icy mist as the temperature dropped unnaturally.  
 _”We are One.”_ The hiss seemed to come from all directions at once, cutting through the silence like a scythe through damp grass. Záhovar looked up as the Nazgûl stepped out of the shadows with uneartly grace, the black robe that gave it form moving slightly as a wind swept through the mist. It was not Dawndeath this time, but one she did not recognise.  
 _”We are One,”_ the wraith repeated. _”Twice thou called; first in Thaurband, last in Hîshtuzg.”_  
”What is happening to me?” she asked.  
” _Despair.”_ The wraith placed an ethereal hand under her chin. Záhovar suddenly felt as though her blood was freezing instead of burning and she could not decide which she preferred; both were equally painful. _”Thy service is not yet ended.”_  
”I do not know how,” she cried. ”Please! I cannot bear the weight of this world!”  
” _Thy place is beyond. Thou has no right to alter that which was given. Release and retrieve.”_ The wraith's face, usually devoid of all emotion, creased even so slightly as it let her go. _”No more can be said.”_  
Záhovar fell to her knees as the Nazgûl backed away. The weight of the physical world rushed in to fill the void and she cried until there were no more tears to shed. All the while the tall wraith remained nearby, a silent sentinel that held danger at bay with its presence.  
”How long have you followed me?” she asked as she wiped her face with the hem of her tunic.   
_”Time is irrelevant.”_  
”Fair enough. Why did you come?”  
 _”Thou called.”_  
Záhovar frowned. ”That makes no sense. You are His servants, not mine. Why heed any call of mine? And I did not call you.” The wraith looked at her blankly without replying. Záhovar refrained from groaning as she stood. _What is going on here? I did not call them... Or did I?_ She remembered the cold cry she had heard when Kraash assaulted her, but she had thought that it came from him. _Did I make that sound?_ She frowned. The Nazgûl had mentioned Thaurband. ' _Call to them and they shall answer.' Those were His words. Perhaps I_ did _call. But is this one here to guide me, or to find out whether I will falter again?_ ”Since you are here... I would ask for your assistance.”   
The Nazgûl made a fluid motion with a gauntlet-clad hand, and Záhovar followed.  
  
  
In the Orc camp, the battle was going ill. Mikbork and Zosh were still gone and after the second serious test of the Orcs' defences, Lîrnash and Ghakû were out cold and Kraash's previous 'wear and tear' soon rendered him as useless as the others. Praktash had his hands full and had to choose between fighting and saving what lives he could. Urkhish was out of arrows and had resorted to sending the enemy's throwing spears back at them. Once the enemy retreated, Graznikh called Margzat for a quick deliberation.  
”Looks bad,” the krîtar rumbled as he came closer.  
”Worse than bad,” Graznikh replied as he counted heads. _Only eight of us left, not counting the snagas and drugdealer._ He winced as Margzat beat a dent out of his shield with the pommel of his sword.  
”Well, we both know what's up next,” Margzat said grimly. Graznikh nodded; he had been in enough battles to see how this would end. Mikbork's face as he returned from his scouting only confirmed what they already knew.  
”Let me guess,” Graznikh muttered as he wiped the sweat from his eyes. ”Reinforcements?” He let out a groan as Mikbork nodded. _So this is it then. This little love story ends in the dirt in some forgotten corner of the world, just like it started._ ”Right then. Gang up with yer backs to the reeds and be ready to charge on my command. Those with shields or polearms up front, archers behind. Don't bother with checking if they're dead once they fall, just keep on hacking. We'll take as many of those bastards down with us as we can!”  
Margzat beat his armour in reply, and soon the Uruks' battle roars echoed over the damp forest. Graznikh could smell Praktash's fear as the green-eyed Uruk squatted beside him.   
”Hey buddy,” Graznikh murmured and patted him on the shoulder.  
”I don't wanna die,” Praktash whispered through gritted teeth.  
”Nobody does,” Graznikh replied, ”not really. But at some point, you just gotta face the fact.”  
”She'll come,” Praktash hissed with the certainty of a madman. ”She'll find out what's happenin' an' she'll come. She won't let us end like this!”  
”Buddy...” Graznikh tried, but Praktash snapped his fangs at him.  
”Don't!” he snarled, eyes brimming with tears. ”Don't fuckin' coddle me! Just 'cause you're bloody suicidal doesn't mean I have to be!” He stood abruptly and walked away. Graznikh let him go with a sigh. _There's nothing I can do to sweeten this anyway._ He glanced at Mikbork and Zosh, who eyed the trees warily and looked ready to bolt at any moment.  
”Snufflers,” he said to get their attention. ”Feel free to make a run for it. I doubt the rest of us'll survive the night, so there won't be anyone left to track ya down.”  
Zosh's eyes lit up with hope but Mikbork refused to meet her gaze, torn as he was between loyalty and the pull to protect his bonded mate. After a while, he looked up at Graznikh with an unreadable expression. Then he looked at Zosh. ”You's right. He _is_ a fuckin' softie.”  
”Just get the fuck outta here,” Graznikh snarled and gave the two snagas a lopsided grin as they disappeared into the reeds. Then he turned back to the others.  
Moments later, horn calls echoed from afar, signalling that the wainriders had begun to advance in force through the fog.  
”How nice of 'em to warn us,” Sulmurz commented dryly. ”Gives us time to put on the tea kettle!”  
”Hope they like it hot,” Margzat growled.  
”An' in the face,” Praktash added.  
Graznikh grinned. Excitement and black bloodlust pumped through his veins and the red berserker's haze hovered just out of reach. One taste of Man-blood and he would be there, embracing it, and this time he would not hold back. He would not even know when the end came. The enemy burst through the underbrush, howling shrill war-cries, and the Orcs and Uruks met them with their own.  
”SADAUK!!!”  
  
Praktash thrust his dire mace into a Man's gut, crushing everything inside. He dodged a spear and broke its wielder's elbow before giving his knees the same treatment. The third opponent managed to feint through his defenses, but the blade only sliced his shoulder as he punched him in the face. _I won't die. I refuse to die!_ It felt as though he wasn't fully there; time and space seemed to slow down around him. _Great Eye, if you're there at all... If you bloody exist for real and isn't just some drug-fog fantasy, then prove it! Get us outta this mess and give Záhovar back to us!_ Graznikh's berserker's roar reached him through the mist and he hurried towards it. _Must keep him safe._ Then he frowned. The roar was suddenly all around him, as though he was surrounded. He slowly turned to look to his left and stared, perplexed, as what he had thought was a small grass-covered mound suddenly grew thick arms and cleaved into the nearest enemy group with a bellow that shook the earth.  
”Earthquake!!” he heard someone shout nearby.  
”NAR!!!” he roared back. ”OLOG!!” _Skai, I have to find Graznikh!_  
Two more mounds exploded and soon three pissed-off trolls were rampaging through the forest, sending Men and Uruks alike flying. Ghrazagh hit a tree and fell to the ground unconscious amid a shower of broken branches. Praktash barely managed to pull Sulmurz out of a troll's reach and shouted at him to return to the camp and check on the wounded before running off in search of Graznikh.  
  
Meanwhile, Graznikh was happier than ever. Life was finally simple again, it was just him and his knives and enemies to stab. He was vaguely aware that others were doing the same, but he could not focus on anything other than the sight of fresh, red blood and the sheer _need_ to draw more. He laughed maniacally as he briefly lifted from the ground when a heavy troll fist slammed into it right next to him. Something grabbed him from behind and he screamed out his rage as the battle went silent, then a burning liquid flooded his throat and in an instant, the red haze was gone. He staggered sideways, coughing and cursing, but was steadied by strong hands.  
”Easy there, cub!” someone cackled. ”There's no smarts in gettin' all riled up with trolls around. Might get ya squashed or worse.”  
Graznikh shook his head. ”I can't... see!”  
”Not to worry, the potion'll wear off in a bit. Now you sit here'n let the ladies do the rest.”  
Graznikh frowned. _Ladies..?_ ”Who're you?” No answer came. ”Hey! Who the fuck are you?!” When the only sound was the din of nearby battle, he tried to get up but was immediately shoved back down.  
”Sit still, ya daft scuttle-fish! Can't bloody well go fighting blind, now can we? Don'tcha worry, we'll get the roundears'n Uruks off yer back.”  
”Off my..? Nar!” Graznikh chuckled. ”I'm _with_ the Uruks! Or, they're with me. I'll tell 'em to back off, no need for fighting amongst ourselves.”  
”Little you, tellin' Black Uruks to back off? Yeah, an' I'm the queen o' the fucking Elves!”  
”You kill them and you're in bloody trouble,” Graznikh growled. He was no longer fully blind, but his sight was dizzy and the world spun every time he turned his head so he squeezed his eyes shut and relied on his other senses instead. He remembered from which direction the hands had appeared to push him down the last time and twisted out of the way as he leapt to his feet. Surprised shouts were heard around him and he leered.  
”I don't need eyes or weapons to fight! C'mon then... _ladies._ Try me.”

No one seemed willing to take him up on his offer, so Graznikh took the time to assess the situation. _Two over there; I can hear 'em breathing. One behind me; that's where the hand came from. Probably the hag who drugged me. And... three to the left. Or is it four? So it's six or seven in all. Those odds're about as good as what I had to deal with out there._  
”You've got some guts,” a new voice said close to his right. Graznikh lashed out but hit only air and was rewarded with a fist to the temple; he crashed down and lay there gasping for a few moments. _Shit, that one's strong!_ An armoured boot stomped him hard between the shoulderblades, forcing the air out of his lungs and making him taste blood.  
”Fine,” he hissed with what little breath he had left as the boot pressed down harder. ”No need to overdo it.”  
”Now there's a smart lad,” the old one chuckled nearby.  
”Watch it,” Graznikh growled and winced as the boot made his neck crack a little.  
”Dun' kill 'im, Maturz,” a deeper voice said. ”'E's no use to us dead.”  
The one holding him down snorted. ”Can't be too careful with wild-fighters. 'Specially those what look like they've got bird shit all over their faces. Best to take the fight outta them right away. Oi, Zrîum!”  
A squeaky voice answered.  
”Go tell Shakraum we're pulling back. The horse-bouncers can have what's left.”  
”You leave my folk to die an' I'll show ya wild-fighter, potion or no!” Graznikh snarled. ”Not only that; you'll have a pissed-off High Officer straight outta Lugburz to deal with too!”  
”Oho. And how would the lofty lord find out where you were killed?”  
Graznikh leered. ”You think we're regular cub-stealers, do ya? Think we're here to drag yer cunnies off to the breeding pits?” Several angry growls told him that that was indeed the case. ”Then think again. We couldn't care less about yer pathetic little tribe. See the collar? Lug-snaga badge, that. Lets our master know where we are, what we're doing, what we're _thinking_ at any bloody given moment. There're two more out there. You kill any one of us and our master'll know what happened here sure as blood-rot in a dirt-rubbed wound!” He couldn't help but revel a little in the uncomfortable silence that fell.  
”Uh, Maturz?” the deep voice muttered. ”Maybe we shoulda-”  
”Shut up!” Graznikh's captor snapped. _So this 'Maturz' is the chief, or something like that,_ Graznikh thought. ”That's a pretty story, but I didn't see any Officers out there.”  
”'Course she's not _here,_ ” Graznikh drawled. ”You think the horsefolk'd dare attack if she was? Nar, she's off consulting with the Eye. Got a real close bond, those two.”  
”She?!” the squeaky voice exclaimed. ”Maturz, what if it's the same as-”  
”Shut the fuck UP!!” Maturz roared. Graznikh heard her inhale as if to shout something else, but a new voice interrupted her.  
”Chief, ya gotta come!”  
Maturz groaned. ”Never a dull moment... I'm busy here, go find Mîrish!”  
”No bloody time!” the new voice snarled. ”They've got Varrgra; ya know what she's like!”  
”Oh fuck,” another voice murmured and the sound of two snaga snickering hysterically was heard. Graznikh almost joined in when he heard Maturz groan even louder than before. The boot disappeared from his neck and he could finally get up, casually rolling his shoulders and stretching his neck a little as he did so.  
”When I get my hands on Varrgra, I'm gonna make her miss the Uruks' fists,” Maturz growled. ”I'll kick in her cunt so hard her next season'll be through her nose!”  
”There's one in every band,” Graznikh commented merrily. His sight had fully recovered during his time on the ground and he had to bite back an appreciative purr as Maturz gave him an evaluating glare. She was the kind of woman most Orc lads had wet dreams about; a fighter in her own right with all the strength and confidence necessary to both take the chief's position and hold it for quite some time. After so long without seeing an Orc female other than Zosh, who was not at all to his taste, Graznikh's first impulse was to go for it and try to get in good with her. But something held him back; a pair of cold, blue eyes flashed in the back of his mind and suddenly the spark was gone. _Skai, I'm too tangled-up already._  
”Well, fuck you too,” Maturz concluded.  
”What, no ropes?” Graznikh asked as she began to walk away.   
Her leer made his loins tingle a little. ”Ropes're more Varrgra's style. Besides, judging by earlier I doubt I'd need 'em.”  
”Well, fuck you too.”  
  
  
”I don't give a flyin' fuck what ya think 'bout my sire,” Margzat growled. He ignored the raving Orc female that Praktash was holding and turned back towards her peers, who had gathered in an angry mob around them, some fifty or so Orcs of varying size. The three trolls near the reeds, doing something only trolls understood the point of. ”I'm bein' bloody generous here. Let the white snaga go an' keep the road outta yer territory clear for us, an' you'll get yer female back.”  
”Keep her!” someone shouted. ”Nobody wants her anyway.”  
”Shut up Skazgat! Idiot snaga...” A large Orc warrior pushed her way up to the front, shoving others out of her way as she went. Once her view was clear, she threw the Uruks a critical look.  
”Maturz'll kill ya for this, Varrgra, ya know that?” she said loudly.  
”Maturz can go cut herself a new cunt,” Varrgra snarled back and let out a completely insane giggle.   
”Just kill the pathetic little dick-wedger,” the newcomer told Margzat. ”Saves us the trouble. You're not getting outta here anyway.”  
”We're on official Tower business,” Margzat growled.   
”Well, oops. Looks like you've failed.”  
”Shakraum! Shaaakraum!” The big Orc female turned to glance at a wiry snaga woman dressed in what could only be described as an intricate poncho made out of finger bones darted through the crowd towards her. ”Maturz says, ehh...” One glance at the Uruks distracted her and her oddly angular face twisted with disgust. ”What the _fuck_ is up with this creepy shit?!”  
”They're Uruks, Zrîum,” Shakraum explained. ”That's all there is.”  
”Like fuck it is! Look at that _face_!” she shrieked and pointed at Praktash. Praktash threw her a dashing leer and winked, and Zrîum gurgled like she was about to throw up. Varrgra laughed out loud.  
”What did Maturz say, Zrîum?” Shakraum asked in an attempt to get the gagging snaga's attention. ”Zrîum? Oi, _snaga!!”  
_ ”Right! Right,” Zrîum squeaked as Shakraum punched her hard and quickly relayed the chief's orders, all the while trying not to glance at Praktash who kept making increasingly disturbing faces at her.  
”Behave, Bukrazikh,” Margzat told him.   
”But she asked for it!” Praktash protested with a grin.  
”I'll have ya asking for it,” Varrgra purred.  
”You're doin' it wrong,” Praktash told her. ”All that rubbin' might've worked if you'd had a cock.”  
She gave him a disappointed look. ”Well, you're no fun at all!”  
”You do realise we're gonna tear your arms off if our superiors don't work out a deal? Or somethin' even worse...”  
”Yeah? Like what?”  
”Whaddya say Drauma?” Praktash asked. ”Fry her?”  
”Hold her feet in the fire 'til her soles melt off,” Urkhish suggested.  
”Leave her in a sunny spot an' rub her hide with pot-grease so the ants find her easily,” Draumaturz said with a leer.  
”That's a good one!” Varrgra exclaimed. ”Or you could saw off my head with a gazelle's jawbone and fuck the hole!”  
Draumaturz frowned. ”What's a gazelle?”  
”Delicious,” Varrgra snickered.  
”Shut it,” Margzat growled.  
” _You_ shut it!!” Varrgra shouted and tried to kick him, but Praktash held her fast.  
  
By now, Maturz had arrived on the scene. ”Why the fuck is everyone standing about like leggy-birds? Shakraum! Didn't I tell ya to pull back?”  
”The horse bouncers broke long ago,” Shakraum replied with a nod towards the Uruks. ”Only this lot left.”  
Maturz threw the Uruks and Varrgra a disgusted look and shrugged. ”Kill 'em. I can get another tongue for my plashnak; preferably one what ain't batshit crazy.”  
”You would if you'd let us live,” Praktash called. ”I'm the best cuntlicker there is!”  
”Hold,” Maturz ordered as she turned back with a sneer. ”Even if I believed that, which I don't, I'd rather fuck a tark than let that nasty face o' yours near me!”  
”In any case, ya might wanna rethink the killing part if you want this to go the right way,” Graznikh growled behind her.  
”And who the fuck let _you_ out!?” Maturz asked exasperatedly.  
”Your guards,” he replied with an obnoxious grin. ”Ya forgot to tell 'em to keep me in, so I walked out.”  
Maturz shook her head slowly. ”I'm surrounded by idiots...”  
”Obviously,” Graznikh sneered. ”So let the genius do the dirty work. I'll tell 'em to back off.”  
Maturz snorted. ”You need to let some air outta that wild-fighter's head; it's gone bloated.”  
”Uruks,” Shakraum said while pointing at the Uruks. Then she pointed at Graznikh. ”Snaga. Not the other way around.”  
” _Lug_ -snaga,” Graznikh corrected while pointing at himself. ”And the bottom fuck of a Top One; my cock alone outranks the krîtar by leaps'n bounds. Watch and learn.”

_Skai, I hope I don't hafta eat this up now,_ Graznikh thought while sauntering up to the Uruks with confident steps. _Margzat's gonna want to kill me after this. But if I can keep 'em alive long enough for Záhovar to find us, then I can work out the chinks after._  
”So what'll it be?” he asked as he stopped in front of Margzat. ”You gonna stand like this 'til sunrise?”  
”So you've gone rogue now?” Margzat asked. ”I'm thinkin' 'at was a quick turn.”  
”Like fuck I have, but I'm kinda keen on survival. Sometimes ya gotta compromise. C'mon krîtar; let the little lady go.”  
”Who the FUCK're you calling 'lady'?!” Varrgra roared.  
”They won't let ya go,” Graznikh said and ignored the growling Orcess. ”I'd wager they don't wanna be found, 'specially not by Uruks. And for bloody good reasons too, if you ask me. You know too much. _We_ do. And I'm disinclined to watch the lot of ya get butchered.” He looked straight at Praktash as he said the last words. His buddy's expression told him that he had already been won over, but Margzat frowned.  
”Uruks don't bloody surrender,” the krîtar growled. ”We live an' die as the Eye wills it!”  
”Right now you live or die as _lord Záhovar_ wills it, krîtar. You think death is any kind o' escape? You think she couldn't just pluck ya right outta the Void, make ya a wight or whatever and torture ya for all eternity? I'm sure she could get real creative if you botch this mission for her.”  
”I'm thinkin' she'll have bigger problems if we botch this,” Margzat replied. ”'Sides, we got no orders. 'At means I gotta make some up 'til she gets back.”  
”Nar, krîtar; _I'm_ the one giving orders now.”  
Margzat's eyes widened and Graznikh could hear Praktash make a croaking sound in the background. Mûrnaluzh snorted and Urkhish chuckled, but the others were quiet. Margzat slowly stepped closer, a tall, dark menace that towered over Orcs and Uruks alike. His eyes were little more than red, glowing slits in his black face and he was so furious that he was shaking. ”You... _what?!”_

Graznikh could feel himself sink into the feeling of a coming fight, both tense and relaxed at once, ready to dodge at the first sign of an incoming blow.  
”You heard me, krîtar. And you _owe_ me. Or was all that kneeling and squatting back in Morigost just for show? Did you sing a pretty song only so you could get into the redhead's loincloth a little faster, hmm?”  
Praktash was trembling almost as much as Margzat, but for different reasons. _That shit wasn't supposed to come out! You're gonna get yourself killed, buddy!_ He threw the others a panicked glance; Golnauk looked utterly mortified. Mûrnaluzh wore a look of mingled disbelief and disdain, Urkhish seemed to think that he should have guessed it and Draumaturz was just confused. Praktash was glad that Ghrazagh and Lîrnash weren't there; they were Margzat's staunchest snaga and would no doubt have pounced Graznikh on his behalf.  
”I am a krîtar in the army o' Lugburz,” Margzat growled. ”I don't take orders from snaga!”  
”And I'm Lug-snaga to a High Officer, one o' the Three,” Graznikh retorted. ”I've higher rank that some o' the Top Ones, for fuck's sake! This isn't a petty fuckin' power struggle; the command line's clear! You're _my_ snaga, and I command ya to stand down! Fit in or fuck off and hope the first arrow kills ya!!”

Margzat roared in fury and charged. Graznikh had no weapons, but there was no backing out now without dropping all the way down to the same level as the now absent snufflers. He dropped and rolled out of the way as the krîtar's heavy blade swept past, right where his waist had been mere moments ago, and ignored Praktash's loud snarl.   
Thankfully the other Uruks stayed out of the fight. This was a challenge between rival commanders, and the pack rules were clear; there would be no intervention before a victor had emerged clear and given the command to tear the loser apart. Graznikh managed to kick Margzat's sword arm and clawed it up above the vambrace, but took a hit from the shield that sent him crashing into the audience. Margzat charged with a bellow and the Orcs scattered; Graznikh barely managed to roll out of the way and quickly put some distance between them. He could tell that Margzat was beginning to tire; the Black Uruk was sweating profusely and his eyes had returned to normal, but he was still angry. Graznikh himself had just begun to get winded and was nowhere near berserking. _Whatever they gave me sure lasts long._   
Margzat shook sweat out of his eyes and gave him a calculating look. He no longer charged blindly and even tried to feint a bit.  
”'S this what ya amount to?” he sneered. ”Some leader ya are, can't even hold yer ground.”  
”What, this piece o' junk?” Graznikh retorted. ”Keep it, I've no plans on staying here. But I'm taking the uzhak with me.”  
”Like fuck ya are! Ya fell outta favour when ya fucked up in th' Crags, no way'm I lettin' ya lead!”  
”If I'm outta favour, why am I not dead? Huh?! If she didn't care for me, she'd've sent me back to Lugburz, don'tcha think? Or just killed me.” Graznikh held his arms out in a 'come and get me'-gesture. ”But she hasn't. You're closer to death right now than I ever was!”  
Margzat kept circling him and Graznikh made sure not to get flanked, but the krîtar had dropped his battle stance. ”If 'at's the case, then where's the Lug-durbatar?” He pointed at the Orc women with his sword. ” _'At_ shit can't've been her plan, now can it?”  
”Are you seriously trying to read the mind o' a Top One?” Graznikh asked. ”For all we know, it _is._ It's not like she'd _want_ us to go and get killed, right?”  
Margzat let out a loud snort. ”'At doesn't mean ya get to go rogue'n take over!”  
”I'm not. I'm just exercising the authority I had from the start.”  
”You gonna talk or fight?” Urkhish called. ”Getting bloody bored here.” He grunted and rubbed his arm where Golnauk had punched him with a disgruntled snarl. ”That didn't make things better!”  
”Don't interfere with yer superiors,” Golnauk growled quietly.

”So what'll it be?” Graznikh asked Margzat. All eyes turned on the krîtar. Margzat eyed him for a moment before his shoulders drooped. He looked down and shook his head with a defeated sigh. Then he attacked. Graznikh had no time to get out of the way; instead, he resorted to an old trick of his and threw himself at Margzat's legs in an attempt to knock him over. Margzat managed to jump over him but miscalculated his landing and fell over with a pained growl. Graznikh took the opportunity to grab Margzat's hair from behind and place his claws at his neck.   
”So what'll it be?” he repeated. When Margzat's only reply was to glare, he slammed his face into the ground, ignoring Praktash's protesting growl in the background. ”Last chance!”  
Margzat snorted blood. ”Fine,” he hissed, his voice low enough that the others would not hear. ”I give up.” Graznikh let him go.  
”You... connivin' little...” Margzat growled as he got back up and wiped his broken nose. Then he threw his shield on the ground in front of Graznikh; the latter had to jump out of the way not to get hit. The sword slammed into the ground next to it before he turned around to face the others. ”Drop yer weapons!”  
Urkhish was the first to obey, but the others hesitated.  
”Ye're not serious,” Golnauk muttered. He quickly shut his mouth as Margzat stomped up to him.  
”Ya wanna be the owner o' the neck I wring? Nar?! Then drop yer fuckin' weapon, _Uruk,_ or I'll show ya what yer arse looks like from above!” Golnauk dropped his axe as if it had come straight out of the forge. The others soon followed his example.  
”Ya better bloody hope you've got a proper plan,” Margzat muttered with a venomous glance at Graznikh before turning to Praktash. ”Drop th' wench.”  
The moment Praktash let her go, Varrgra spun and spat him in the face. Praktash jerked back with a surprised sound and Margzat finally snapped; he grabbed Varrgra by the hair and threw her into the crowd, sending several Orcs tumbling in turn.  
”Nice throw,” Maturz commented dryly. She was studying Graznikh and the Uruks with a new kind of calculating look that Graznikh did not like one bit.  
Now that he had time to take a proper look, Graznikh realised that there weren't just a few women in the group; _all_ of them were women, even the trolls. Many of them sported old wounds or disfiguring scars and more than a few walked with the waddle that was the telltale sign of an old one who had borne many litters, though they looked far too young to have done so. 

”You done drooling for plashnak?” Maturz murmured in his ear. Graznikh jumped away and she laughed as he rubbed where she had licked his earrings with a disgruntled snarl.  
”So what'll it be?” Graznikh asked. ”You can't hold us, I told ya as much earlier!”  
”Aye, ya did,” Maturz admitted with a thoughtful expression. ”And I'll believe that when I see it.”  
”Suit yourself... So then what, we just gonna stand here?”  
”You daft or something? Sun's rising; we're going to the den.”  
”Like fuck you are!” Shakraum snarled. ”Ye're not taking Uruks to where the cubs are! They'll bloody eat 'em!” Several of the others nodded with baleful glances towards the Uruks. Praktash shuffled a little with a scowl of discomfort.   
Maturz snorted and turned to Graznikh. ”You keep yer pet Uruks in line, won'tcha? No games, not with _anyone._ Got it?”  
”I'll flog the bastard who tries myself.” Graznikh smirked a little as Maturz nodded and walked away, only to jump as another pair of lips teased his ear.  
”Don't get your hopes up now, buddy,” Praktash chuckled. ”Záhovar'll turn ya black in patches if she finds out you're messin' on the side.”  
”I've no such plans,” Graznikh replied absently. ”Isn't it a bit stupid to keep us when we're no use to ya?” he called after Maturz. ”Extra mouths to feed, ya know; these big ones aren't satisfied with a haunch a night!”  
”Oh, you have yer uses,” Maturz leered. ”You'll see.”  
  
  
Záhovar lengthened her steps to keep up with the Nazgûl's strides. It seemed determined and able to pick out the right path despite the thick mist; she had no choice but to follow. Though the initial scream in the distance had been silenced, loud moans indicated great suffering nearby. Some kind of wailing chant accompanied it, now and then punctured by a staccato rhythm played on some kind of horn. _Some kind of ceremony,_ she thought. Soon the mists parted slightly, revealing a tall, narrow peninsula stretching out into the river. The reeds had been cut down around it and torches lined the base of the hill. The gathering they had heard from the forest was taking place on top of the hill in front of a crude stone idol with spindly driftwood arms, its form lit by a fire at its base. Its head was adorned with a large Eye of red clay. The participants had not yet seen them; the Man who led the ceremony raised his arms towards the idol and cried for the Great Lord to answer in a thin but commanding voice. The Nazgûl circled the base of the ridge so that they ended up behind the idol and as the Man lowered his hands in wait, it signalled for Záhovar to step out on the left side of it.  
  
Gasps and cries of surprise were heard from the small crowd as she stepped into the light with the Nazgûl close behind. The village priest was clearly not expecting to have his prayers answered in such a tangible manner and trembled briefly before falling to his knees. In the same wailing, chanting voice as before, he began to praise the Great Lord for answering his most trusted servant and granting him this boon, whatever it was.  
Záhovar pretended not to see him. On the ground within the ceremonial site lay a young girl, hands and feet securely bound and fastened to wooden stakes which had been driven into the ground. She had been severely mutilated; her sex and lips had been cut away and strips of skin had been peeled off her ribcage in an Eye-shape pattern. Despite this she was still alive, but her deathly pallor and the dark pool of blood in the grass showed that she would not remain so for much longer.  
The Nazgûl, cold and emotionless though it was, seemed to be fascinated with the ”sacrifice”. It sank down on bended knee beside the dying girl, greaves creaking slightly, and moved a gauntleted hand across her face and body. Záhovar suddenly had to struggle hard to resist the siren call of her suffering and fear; it was most unwise to go between the great wraith and its prey.   
  
The girl's spirit was gone within the blink of an eye. The crowd began to chant something that could only be a chant for the departed and as it rose in a crescendo, a mournful cry was heard from the village below. _The girl's mother, no doubt._ Záhovar turned towards the priest.  
”Rise.”  
The priest obeyed. ”Long have we prayed-” he began, but Záhovar interrupted him.  
”And you have been heard. What would you ask?”  
”Our village has been plagued by demons,” he explained. ”Dark shadows in the mist! They carry away our livestock, our-”  
”Livestock? Do you take our Master for a goat herder?”  
”N-no! No, your Benevolence. But there is more! They have also taken children, men who venture into the mist, women who go to the river to wash clothes. We cut down the reeds so that they would have no place to hide, but it did not end. With the mists come the demons!”  
”And what did you do then?”  
”We... sacrificed crops. Fish. Buffalo. But no answer came. We gave a man who did not contribute, but no answer came! The Great Lord was not appeased by such meager gifts.”  
Záhovar had read about rituals such as these. In many neglected parts of the world, the populace would often resort to desperate methods to control their lives or their surroundings, however pointless those methods may be. Some would even use them to control others, to sway them into doing their bidding in a childlike imitation of the High Officers or even the Dark Lord Himself. Some would claim to speak for Him or even surpass Him.  
She was also familiar with the many different kinds of torture. Certain kinds of sorcery required sacrifice, willing or not, and Gîrakûn had given her extensive knowledge on how to inflict pain on others. Such practices had their place. But _this_ was not one and the thought of someone, _anyone,_ using them to try to force the Dark Lord's hand infuriated her.  
”These 'demons'... Tell me of them.”  
The priest lifted his arms and began a dramatic tale of how the demons moved through the reeds and the mist as though they were one with it. How they poured out of the very earth like pus from a wound. How their eyes glowed yellow in the dark. Záhovar smiled when he finally fell silent.   
”Great need demands great sacrifice,” she told him. ”You have been Seen. I shall deal with these demons and you need no longer fear them. But the Great Lord's blessing does not end there. Douse the fires, for you will no longer cook upon them. Empty your huts, for you will no longer need them. Some distance towards the sunset there lies a great path, trodden by many feet, leading into a great wasteland. Follow it. On the southern horizon, you will see the sacred sign; a great Eye, lidless, wreathed in flame. It shall guide you safely across, and through the great forest beyond. When you reach the mountain built by hands, you shall speak the sacred pledge; 'Nazgûl has summoned me to learn my true purpose'. Never again shall you fear demons or emptiness.”  
  
The priest's eyes welled over with tears of gratitude as he explained the situation to the crowd, most of whom did not speak a single word of the Common tongue.  
”Must we leave at once?” he asked her afterwards. ”And how will we recognise this mountain you speak of?”  
”Celebrate tonight, but not to forgetfulness,” she replied. ”Remember that your true reward lies at the feet of our Master. As for the mountain... You will know it when you see it. Go now and prepare; I shall remain here and meditate upon the task at hand.”  
Záhovar let out a sigh of relief once the priest and his flock was gone and silence reigned over the torchlit hill, only to start as she spotted the Nazgûl watching her from behind the idol.  
”Is this what you intended?”  
 _”We intend nothing,”_ the wraith replied. _”We obey.”_  
Záhovar nodded. _Of course. Bound to His will, just like the men and women of this village will soon be. If they survive the journey._ The girl's sacrifice was no crime; indeed, many of the eastern cults practiced blood sacrifice of some kind. It was the intention and the focus of it that was. Had they prayed to the true god, He Who Arises in Might, not a finger would have been lifted against them. But these riverland lackwits worshipped the Dark Lord of Lugburz as a god, and that was strictly forbidden. For all His might and power, He was still humble, far beyond any mortal sense. He refused to declare Himself a god, but would rather be seen as a mere servant of one. Záhovar shivered a little, and not only because of the damp chill in the air or the Nazgûl's presence. If she had such power at her disposal... She could not be certain that it would not consume her.  
 _”Thou art being followed.”_  
She looked up as the Nazgûl spoke. ”For what purpose?”  
 _”Thy death.”_  
”Then they will be sorely disappointed. Will you aid me one last time?”  
 _”Speak.”_  
”I must return to my snaga.”  
 _”Thy presence in Rhûn is long delayed.”_  
”I know, but I still have need of them. No Man of Rhûn could ever fill their roles. And they have my horse.”  
The great wraith stared at her for a while before giving a nod that could have been perceived as curt, had the receiver not known of the Nazgûl's lack of emotions. Záhovar rose and followed as it turned away and strode out into the mist.

 


	9. Submission

”I don't care how tough he thinks he is,” Varrgra proclaimed. ”He looks like bird shit! Can't trust that.”  
”If that's what you think, then ye're a bigger idiot than we thought,” Maturz replied. ”Besides, you don't need to worry yourself with that.”  
”Already claimed, izz'e?” Shakraum leered.  
”Ya _know_ he is,” Maturz chuckled.  
”So you're gonna fuck a bird shit? That's gross!”  
”Says the one who wants to fuck the Uruk spunk bowl... Eeep!” Zrîum leapt away as Varrgra swiped at her with a growl.  
”Keep talkin' like 'at and I'll give _you_ to the Uruks!” Varrgra snarled, but Zrîum only laughed.  
”You do know that we can hear ya, right?” Praktash called. All four Orc women told him to shut up without so much as a glance, and Praktash sighed. Margzat kept glaring daggers at Graznikh's back; Praktash had never seen him so angry before and it worried him almost as much as the situation they were currently in. _Záhovar, if you don't come back soon this little band's gonna tear itself apart from inside, even if we manage to get away from these crazy females!_ Then he remembered the bond. _Shit, the bond's cut! She can't find us! Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck... Wait._ He tried to appear as inconspicuous as possible as he looked back towards the camp. And did he not catch a brief glimpse of orange over there, by the forest's edge? _Sully knows. Skai, I hope he finds Záhovar before these crazy bitches find him!_

The den was well camouflaged and equally well defended; first, a long, sloping tunnel led into the tall reeds, winding back and forth until Praktash could no longer tell in which direction they were going. The tunnel opened on a small clearing near the cliffs that they had seen further upstream; here, another tunnel led into the earth. The Uruks had to bend over in places where the ceiling was too low for them to walk upright. They passed several smaller caverns on the way, as well as numerous other tunnels both carved and natural, until they finally reached the main den. This cavern was large, with numerous little hollowed-out dens and holes where other tunnels led deeper into the earth. And the moment he stepped over the threshold, all went black.

  
When Graznikh came to, he found himself securely bound to a sturdy pole in what looked like a little reed hut. A few tugs on the chains told him that breaking free was not an alternative.  
”Give it up,” Margzat rumbled from behind him. ”Already tried 'at.” The Uruks were similarly restrained; Praktash was tied to the same pole as Graznikh and Margzat; he was still unconscious and bled from behind the ear.  
”What happened?” Graznikh asked.  
”Blunted arrows,” Margzat grunted. ”Probably sent someone ahead to set things up once we surrendered.”  
”Wonderful...”  
”How's the plan workin' out for ya, 'leader'?” Urkhish muttered.  
”Just fine,” Graznikh replied. ”Except for that,” he added with a nod towards Praktash.  
”He's got a thick skull,” Margzat said. ”I'm thinkin' he'll come 'round soon.”  
True enough; soon Praktash groaned and blinked a few times. ”Fuck, my head...”  
”I know some what'd rather fuck other parts of ya,” Draumaturz chuckled.  
”Shut up,” Praktash muttered.  
”Mûrna?” Golnauk asked. ”Ya still there?”  
”Why the fuck would you care?” Mûrnaluzh snarled.  
”Why not? At least with you, we know who's gonna stab us in the back next.”  
”Nice try,” Graznikh sneered. ”You think you'll fare better 'gainst me than the krîtar?”  
”Just cut the yappin', all of ya!” Praktash exclaimed. ”This isn't gonna solve anythin' anyway, so just shut up.”  
They sat in silence for a while, listening to the sounds of everyday life outside. People were talking, quarrelling, fucking, working; there were sounds of children of all ages, of crackling fires, splashing water and the myriad little sounds and smells that meant 'home'. Graznikh felt a little pang of homesickness despite it all. Margzat muttered something about females outside the pits being against the law and Graznikh snorted. ”If Hoshash heard that, she'd grab ya by the ear and give ya a what-for.”  
”Hoshash?” Praktash asked. ”Your 'nana'?”  
”Aye,” Graznikh replied.  
”What's a 'nana'?” Urkhish asked.  
”She raised me when my real mum bit the dust in a tark raid,” Graznikh explained. Tough ol' bitch... Though she wasn't that much older than me at the time. Seven winters or so. She was the kind o' woman who could take on anyone, any time, whether she was thick with spawn or not, and come out on top. Would even hold her ground 'gainst the chief if she saw fit to, but she never overrode his authority. Any chief should be proud to have someone like that fighting alongside them, not lock 'em up in some dungeon. Bloody waste o' talent and resources.” He shook his head. ”If she ever made it to Lugburz, I doubt she did well in the pits. Probably woulda slit her throat before lettin' herself get chained up like a bloody broodmare.”  
”If things were so good then, why come to Lugburz?” Urkhish asked.  
”Let's see,” Graznikh mused. ”First, there was an army of pissed-off Elves'n tarks ganging up on us in the other direction. Second, there was nothing left to eat, and all our strongholds were destroyed by equally pissed-off dwarves pouring outta the mountains like pus from a pimple.”  
”Third, the Uruks killed everyone who even thought o' going back,” Kraash added as he appeared through the hut door. ”There was a whole tribe what refused to cross the river, said they did fine in the mountains and planned on turning back. The krîtar, Uruk of course, said that if they wouldn't use the bridge then they'd swim. And sure enough, the Uruks set up a shield wall an' started chopping. Pushed the whole tribe in. An' they weren't the only ones. That river ran black by the time I passed.” He shot the Uruks a nasty leer. ”Cub killers.”  
The Uruks began to growl, but Graznikh stepped in. ”Cut it out!” he snapped at them before turning to Kraash. ”Most of this lot weren't even born by then, so quit bringing up rotten stuff! And what the fuck're you doing here, why aren't you with-”  
”What?” Kraash asked and cocked his head. ”Don't wanna know what mark that tribe carried?”  
”Nar,” Graznikh growled. ”I don't know and I don't care. Lugburz is our home now, the Great Eye the only mark I care for! And so should you, if you know what's bloody good for ya!”  
”Ya know what?” Kraash sneered. ”Fuck the Eye'n fuck the whore what serves it!”  
”Good t' know,” Margzat growled. ”'At's mean the snaga-hunt just opened for applications.”  
Draumaturz sneered. ”I hope you like cock, little snaga. You're gonna get it 'til ya puke spunk _and_ blood once Lug-durbatar's back, I'll make sure of it!”  
”Sure ya will,” Kraash snickered. ”Good luck with that. Hope ya like pots, 'cause you'll be in one soon. Diced up proper.” With that he was gone.  
Graznikh cursed. ”I'm gonna tear his fucking spleen out!! How the fuck did he end up here?”  
”'At might mean the others're here too,” Margzat muttered. Praktash shook his head, but said nothing.  
”I wouldn't be too sure,” Golnauk said. ”Ghrazagh was worse off than th' snaga; even if he's still alive, he won't be going anywhere for a while.”  
Graznikh listened to the Uruks' discussion with half an ear while trying to come up with a way to get them all out of there. He had no problem with leaving Kraash behind; that one had been more trouble than he was worth and if the opportunity arose, he would gladly leave a knife-shaped memory in the traitorous bastard's back too. _But we hafta find weapons of some kind. Can't go traipsing through the den without some means to defend ourselves if things go from bad to worse.  
  
_ A rustle in the wall caught his attention. At first he thought it was a rodent of some kind; rats thrived where Orcs settled, despite the constant threat of becoming an easy snack or a target for the cubs' hunting games. But this was no rodent. After a moment, the reeds separated and a pair of greenish-white goblin eyes peeked around the hut to make sure the prisoners were alone before emerging fully.  
Graznikh grinned. ”Zosh!”  
”Ssshh!” Zosh hissed with a finger against her lips and a wary glance at the hut's leather door. ”Shut up! Hut's not guarded, but 'at won't mean they don't keep an ear to this place.”  
”What're you doin' here?” Praktash whispered. ”I thought you left with Mikbork.”  
”I did,” Zosh replied, ”but then these crazy wenches found us. Took me in readily enough, Mickey got in too 'cause he was with me.”  
”Crazy wenches? I thought you'd be happy about bein' in a tribe again.”  
”That arrow make ya daft? They're barkin' mad! Hates cock-folks like ya wouldn't believe, 'n they treat Mickey like shit. I'm not stayin' here if I can help it.”  
”Mind giving us a hand while you're at it?” Graznikh asked.  
”Working on it.” She began to pick at the ropes that held the Orcs and Uruks to the poles. Praktash came loose first, then Graznikh.  
”Finally!” Graznikh growled quietly as he stretched. ”D'ya know where they keep our weapons?”  
”Not sure,” Zosh said while struggling with Margzat's bonds. ”But I think-”  
At that point, Maturz walked in, followed by Shakraum and another mucular woman. Zosh disappeared so fast that she did not recognise her, but Graznikh and Praktash were caught with their hands in the larder, as it were.  
”Why'm I not surprised to see ya out'n about?” Maturz muttered as she locked eyes with Graznikh. ”Skazgat's knotwork's worse than a troll's eyesight at noon. Don't be idiots now,” she warned when both Graznikh and Praktash began to growl. ”Even if you get past us, you'll never get outta here alive. The others'll skin ya alive and use yer hides for boots!”  
”As the healer, I gotta advise against it,” Praktash said flippantly. ”I'd chafe somethin' awful.”  
Maturz shrugged. ”Whatever, I'm not in the mood for chit-chat. Archers!”  
The Orc women squatted to avoid the incoming volley; Graznikh and Praktash were not as fast. The blunt stone tips were not lethal but hit hard enough to do some damage. Praktash hit the ground hard and did not get up; Graznikh snorted blood after one had glanced his nose, but was quickly subdued by the Orcesses.  
”Skai... You folks never learn, do ya?” Maturz sneered, ignoring the still tied up Uruks and their curses. ”Get White-Face outta here.”  
”Wha' about this one?” the yet nameless Orcess asked as she squatted beside Praktash. ”Tie 'im up?”  
”He's not breathin',” Shakraum concluded after taking a closer look. ”To the pots?”  
”Nar, leave him for now. Let him be a lesson for his 'buddies' or whatever they're called.” She gave the Uruks one last sneer. ”Enjoy yer day!”

Several long moments passed after Graznikh had been dragged out of sight. Margzat kept staring at Praktash's still body with bared fangs. But when he saw no movement, his shoulders slowly slumped and he closed his eyes. ”'At's it, then...”  
Draumaturz tried to reach him with a foot, but ultimately failed. ”Hey, Ghâshkaum? You still in there? Hey!”  
”Leave it,” Golnauk said quietly. ”'S over, no need to draw it out.”  
Margzat could feel a big part of himself crumple up like a piece of parchment and burn to ash inside his chest. He had lost superiors, inferiors and shieldbrothers before, but it had never moved him like this. Those losses had been cold, calculated, he had even given the order to leave others behind to cover a retreat himself. Life was not precious; it came and went and losing a soldier was not a big deal in the end. But this _was_ a big deal. His Bukrazikh was _gone_ and he had no idea how to handle this new, incomprehensible pain. ”'S over...”  
He twitched hard at the loud sound of an exhalation and opened his eyes again, only to find himself staring into Praktash's bright green ones. The drugdealer flashed a grin.  
”I dunno, 'Zat,” he drawled quietly. ”Doesn't look that way to me.”  
”Ya bleedin' little breath-stoppin' fuck!!” Margzat hissed, barely keeping the growl out of his voice, but he could not fully mask his relief. Praktash choked back laughter as he untied him and gave him a quick lick on the cheek before moving on to free the others.  
”Izzat the best 'e can do?” Zosh asked with a nod towards Margzat as she reappeared through the wall. ”'At one needs to learn some new words.”  
”Well, 'at was a trick worth retellin' in the bootcamps,” Golnauk chuckled as he was set free.  
”It's not my fault those daft twats didn't check for a pulse,” Praktash whispered back.  
”So what do we do now?” Urkhish asked while rubbing his writs to get the blood flowing.  
The grin faded from Praktash's face. ”We get outta here.”  
Margzat looked up with a frown. ”Just like 'at?”  
Praktash shrugged, but refused to meet anyone's gaze as he answered. ”Yeah. Graz can handle himself. Screw weapons; we gotta find Záhovar. She's the only one who can fix this mess.”  
The others looked to Margzat for surety. The krîtar took a moment before he nodded. ”Sounds like a plan. Snaga!”  
Zosh had been eyeing the entrance warily and jumped when the great Uruk spoke to her. ”Uh-huh?”  
Margzat motioned for the back wall of the reed hut. ”Lead the way, an' ya better not make me regret it.”  
The area behind the hut was empty. The Uruks quickly and quietly widened the hole she crept through and followed her along the back wall until they reached a storage room where a door in the floor lead down into the river. The moment the Uruks entered, the smell of blood and warg filled their nostrils.  
”Well, then...” Praktash muttered as he eyed the skinned warg bodies hanging in the ceiling. ”Now we know what took our wargs.”  
”Akûl's not here,” Margzat pointed out. ”'At means he's still out there.”  
Praktash gave him an odd look. ”Since when did you care for wargs?”  
”Since when did I not? They kept the snaga from slowin' us down.”  
”How're we gonna get outta here?” Draumaturz whispered.  
”Izz' not deep,” Zosh explained and pointed at the well.  
Margzat looked at Praktash and gave him a light shove towards the dark hole. ”Ya can hold yer breath longer than any o' us, an' this was yer idea. You go first'n check for holes below. Go on!”  
”Are you crazy?!” Praktash hissed. ”If I lose my footin', I'll drown! I can't hold my breath forever, y'know!”  
Golnauk sighed and grabbed a rope from a wooden hook on the wall. ”There,” he grunted after tying it around Praktash's waist. ”Now we can haul yer arse up if it gets too wet.”  
”I thought that was a good thing,” Praktash leered but fell silent when Margzat shoved him again with a growl. ”Oof! Watch it, I'm on my way!”  
  
  
Sulmurz was busy watering the horses when Záhovar walked into camp, carefully stepping over the broken and scattered branches the Orcs had used for cover earlier. He had set whatever tents were still whole up as day-cover for the wounded and had piled the enemy bodies and parts of bodies on the far side of camp. The horses had panicked when the trolls rose and one was gone, its halter lying broken on the ground. The others had tossed and thrown but remained in place; Záhovar's horse had bucked hard enough for the abrasive rope halter to wear into its snout, baring bone and cartilage. Sulmurz had done his best to make a new one with a leather belt around its neck instead and had dabbed some healing salve on its injured head. When he spotted her, he put the salve jar back in his belt and hurried up to her.  
Záhovar gave the blood-drenched camp a wide-eyed look. ”What in the name of the Queen of Folly happened here?!”  
”A lot,” Sulmurz replied. ”The Wainwhatever caught us. Woulda killed us, but just when things looked worst a bunch o' trolls and Orcs appeared outta nowhere. I didn't see all o' it, got sent back to camp afore they came in force, but when the Wainfolk broke they dragged those still standin' into the reeds. Me'n the happy lot in here're the only ones left.” He nodded towards the wounded and watched with a concerned expression as Záhovar walked over to them.  
_Lîrnash, Ghrazagh..._ A quick examination told her that their wounds had not been treated. ”Where does Praktash keep his supplies?”  
”I'll get 'em,” Sulmurz replied. ”I think he dumped it over here. I only had some salve, that's all the flesh-knittin' I know. Ghrazagh's bad though, he had a twig stickin' outta his knee and he's too hot, even I can tell that. Might need more than just needles, but I don't-”  
”Sulmurz,” Záhovar said as she took the bag out of his hands.  
”Err... Aye?”  
”You need not talk to fill the silence.” Sulmurz looked away with an embarrassed scowl and Záhovar gave him a little smile. ”Are you afraid?”  
”Nar! I mean... Ya can't smell it?”  
”My sense of smell is not as refined as yours.”  
”Right...” He watched her thread one of the large surgeon's needles that Praktash used when stitching cuts. ”So... High Officers get lessons in flesh-knittin'?”  
”No,” she replied. ”I have never done this before.”  
”But..?”  
”I have, however, watched Praktash do this many times. He has also told me some of what he knows. Enough to manage basic field dressing, if one is to believe him.”  
”Rrright. If...”  
”Boil water and tear some clean rags from the discarded clothing. Place the rags in the water and bring it here. Then strip the remaining bodies of whatever clothes, armour, weapons and valuables you can find. But stay nearby, in case I need you.”  
Sulmurz gave her a haphazard salute and walked away, glad to finally have some clarity in life. Being on your own was one thing; being on your own with two dying Uruks in enemy territory and knowing that those still alive were probably being tortured or butchered for supper right now was another matter entirely. But now the High Officer was back, and she would set things right... Wouldn't she?  
  
Lîrnash was disoriented when he woke up; at first he growled, thinking that he was still in the thick of battle, but then he looked around and squinted up at Záhovar. ”L-Lug-durbatar?”  
”Yes, I am here. Lie still; you are badly wounded.”  
Lîrnash looked at his chest where a deep gash split the muscle almost in two. Then his eyes focused on the needle in her hand. ”Where's Praktash?”  
”Captured. I do not know where yet, but I will find him.”  
”An'... the others?”  
”Presumably went the same way,” Sulmurz grunted. ”All but four're accounted for, sorta.”  
Záhovar looked up. ”Four?”  
”Mikbork'n Zosh went missin' while scouting. Kraash'n Ghakû went down in the first battle, and if they'd been hale I'd've guessed that they went rogue. But they were both too mangled; can't've moved on their own.”  
”Maybe whatever's hidin' in th' reeds got 'em,” Lîrnash suggested.  
”Possibly,” Záhovar replied. ”For now, let me focus on your wounds.”  
Lîrnash stared at the needle as though it was a snake; as it poised to stab into his flesh, he twitched and whimpered a little. Záhovar met his gaze and smiled faintly. ”Would you rather lose your arm?”  
”'S 'at really necessary?” Lîrnash asked in a hushed whisper.  
”It is. Shall I tie you up?” she added when he began to shake his head. He immediately stopped and gave her a hopeless look. Záhovar's smile grew wider and Sulmurz, who had just returned with another armful of somewhat whole clothes, stared in disbelief as Lîrnash squeezed his eyes shut with a terrified expression and laid back down. He dug the claws of his unharmed arm into the ground and began to hyperventilate. He even trembled. Sulmurz could hardly believe his eyes. _He's scared o' needles?!_  
Normally, Sulmurz would have found the situation hilarious, but now it just left a bad taste in his mouth. As he went to strip more bodies, he noticed a pair of large, yellow-green eyes watching him from the reeds. He howled in terror, thinking it was the monster that had eaten the wargs, and ran back to Záhovar.  
”What in the Void are you doing?” Záhovar asked as he stopped behind her.  
”Th-... Th-... The reed beast's back!” Sulmurz managed to say between the gasps.  
”Indeed?” Záhovar gave Mikbork a scrutinising look as the snuffler came trotting after him. ”You might want to look again.”  
Sulmurz gave the snuffler an angry look. ”The fuck're ya sneakin' up on me for? I coulda bloody killed ya!”  
”With your arse?” Mikbork snickered. ”'S not my fault you're fog-blind.”  
  
Sulmurz questioned Mikbork on the situation while Záhovar tended Lîrnash's and Ghrazagh's wounds. Mikbork and Zosh had apparently been captured as well, but Zosh had talked them out of imprisonment and into servitude; she had been free from the start and once the Orcesses found out that they were bonded mates, they had let him go as well. Then they had hauled Kraash and Ghakû in as well before leaving to deal with the 'disturbance' outside.  
”And these Orcs are all female?” Záhovar asked.  
Mikbork nodded. ”Some didn't wanna go to Lugburz, some were there long enough t' go barren, others got outta there afore that happened.”  
”If they hate Uruks, why didn't they slit the throats o' these two?” Sulmurz wondered aloud with a glance towards Ghrazagh and Lîrnash.  
”They probably left them for dead,” Záhovar said, ”or felt certain that they would not be able to find them, even if they lived.”  
”Good luck fer us, eh?” Sulmurz replied with a grin that grew meek as Záhovar awarded him a brief glance and a curving of the corner of her mouth. Mikbork secretly rolled his eyes and gave Sulmurz a wide-eyed, innocent look as the larger Orc glared at him.  
”So how _do_ we find 'em?” Lîrnash asked. Mikbork seemed to grow smaller as three pairs of eyes, all belonging to larger and stronger beings than him, turned to his bony figure.  
”There's, uh, a t-tunnel,” Mikbork stuttered and pointed towards the reeds. ”Leading to the river. They's usin' it for fetching water; 'at's how I got out.”  
”And how large is this tunnel?” Záhovar asked. ”Will we even fit in there?”  
”Oh, aye!” Mikbork nodded vigorously. ”'S way bigger than the snaga tunnels. There's water in it, o' course... I crawl upside down. Cap'n might be able to, too, but...”  
”But I will have to wade,” Záhovar conluded. ”Or swim. So be it.”  
”What, erh... What's 'swimming'?” Lîrnash asked. Mikbork and Sulmurz shrugged.  
Záhovar gave him a thoughtful look. ”Not you. You will not be of much use, injured as you are. Remain and tend to your shield mate. We shall return when this is sorted.” Then she motioned for Mikbork to lead the way.  
Lîrnash looked after them. ”But... What's 'swimming'?”  
  
  
Graznikh had been blindfolded the moment they dragged him out of the hut, so he had no idea where he was when they finally stopped. The sounds of the main den were faint and dull here and the place smelled of smoke, hides, rocks, meat and booze and permeating all was the scent of female.  
His legs were kicked out from underneath him and he expected to hit the ground hard, but found it cushioned by thick furs of which he got a mouthful when he landed. His arms and legs were splayed wide and once he was restrained by ropes once more, someone cut his clothes off until he lay naked and exposed. Then he was left alone.  
_You're not dead,_ he told the darkness in his head. _Ya hear me, buddy? Don't you dare ditch me here!_ He desperately tried to calm his rapid breathing and focused on the bond instead, or rather the bond that should have been there. The emptiness budged a little as he pushed it with his mind's strength, but did not implode. The only things growing stronger were despair and helplessness. _Záhovar... I'll do whatever you want, I'll be a loyal snaga, just get back here and get us outta this mess!_  
  
Wading through the river tunnel was slow going. The water was murky and Praktash had to feel his way forward through the mud with his bare feet. It was not made easier by the fact that the river bed was covered by a sludge of deep, loose mud and rotting reeds that effectively hid all holes and bumps until he put weight on the step. Several times the ground fell away underneath his feet and the others had to drag him back to safety, but still they made progress.  
”I bloody hope they haven't noticed us bein' gone yet,” Draumaturz muttered with a glance of thinly veiled envy at Zosh, who hung onto the ceiling with her claws like a skinny little spider.  
Urkhish cursed and pulled a large, black leech off his thigh. ”Makes two of us.”  
”Quit actin' like snaga,” Margzat said in a hushed voice. ”An' keep it down! Might be we're still below the den, an' these little cunts've sharp hearin'.”  
”Did he _have_ to mention that word?!” Draumaturz whined. He gave Urkhish a shove as the other began to snicker; Urkhish lost his footing and crashed into the wall, pulling Margzat backwards into the muddy water. There was a lot of splashing and flailing before Margzat resurfaced, spitting and snorting and wiping mud out of his eyes. Then he locked eyes with Urkhish and Draumaturz in turn, both of whom shrank away from the krîtar's silent fury.  
”I'm thinkin',” Margzat said in a low growl, ”'at the two o' ya just volunteered for jake diggin' for the rest o' the bloody trip!”  
”Guys?” Praktash called.  
”Wasn't _my_ fault!” Urkhish protested. ”He started it!”  
”Well, he's being a snaga!” Draumaturz retorted.  
” _Shut it,_ both o' ya!!” Margzat barked. ”Ya wanna dig yer own graves next?!”  
”Hey, _snaga_!!” Praktash shouted. He gave the others a lopsided grin as they all turned to stare at him. ”Thanks for that. Now we might have a bit of a problem here; the ground's gone.”  
Margzat frowned, his earlier anger forgotten. ”Whaddya mean 'gone'?”  
Praktash turned his back on the tunnel ahead to face the others. ”It's too deep. I can't feel the ground even when divin' under. We're stuck.”  
The other Uruks looked up at Zosh.  
”'S not my fault!” Zosh squeaked. ”I didn't know, how'd I know?”  
”She's right,” Praktash muttered. ”Hey!” he called when the others began to mutter about snacks. ”She's right! We'll have to come up with somethin' else.”  
”Oho?” Margzat grunted. ”Like... What?!”  
Praktash frowned. ”What-”  
”My suggestion is that you follow me instead.”  
  
Praktash howled in terror, leapt forward and landed on Margzat, who once more fell backwards, this time crashing into Urkhish and Draumaturz who knocked Golnauk over in turn. All five Uruks were caught in the muddy chaos for a few moments until Golnauk finally got hold of the wall and could drag himself up and regain his footing. Once all of them had their heads above the surface and were done gasping, snorting, spitting and heaving mud, they turned as one to look sheepishly at Záhovar.  
She was hanging in the ceiling along with Mikbork and Sulmurz, holding on with the steel claws of her gauntlets just as well as the Orcs did with their natural claws. While the Orcs stared in confusion, she only smiled as she watched the Uruks' mishap.  
”I knew you'd find us!” Praktash exclaimed cheerfully once he could breathe again.  
Margzat gave him a brief grin before saluting the High Officer. ”We're yers'n ready to serve, Lug-durbatar. It'd be easier to do so if we had our weapons, but... Claws'n fangs'll do.”  
”We shall retrieve your weapons,” Záhovar said, ”and the rest of your equipment.” She frowned. ”Where is my other Lug-snaga? Where is Graznikh?”  
”Still bein' held by the enemy,” Margzat replied. ”From what we've heard, they plan on usin' him for... uh...”  
”They're gonna use him to breed,” Praktash explained. ”They're all female, some escaped from the breedin' pits, others never made it there. From the looks of it, they've been ambushin' raidin' parties an' freein' all females they could find.”  
”The chief, Maturz, she's crazy,” Zosh chimed in. ”Man-hater to boot, an' I'm not talkin' tarks.”  
”Who are her lickspittles?” Záhovar asked.  
”Mîrish, Shakraum, Varrgra; she's even crazier, got hooked up with Kraash so that should tell ya all; Zrîum'n Skazgat're snaga, not as small as me'n Mickey but not as smart either. They got three trolls too, Fachthal's real nice, she likes my cookin'!”  
”You chatted up a troll?!” Praktash exclaimed. ”An' I missed that! Skai, all the fun stuff happens when I'm tied up. What?!” he snarled as Urkhish and Draumaturz began to snicker hysterically; even Margzat had trouble keeping his face straight.  
”Don'tcha worry Bukrazikh,” he rumbled, ”we'll make sure ye're involved in the fun next time ye're tied up.”  
”Oh, you..! You lecherous ol' cudgel!”  
”Uruki!” Záhovar called to regain their attention. ”Form up; left and right, double back the way you came. March!” The Uruks quickly obeyed and returned up the tunnel, still snickering. ”Krîtar; hold your arms straight out in front of you.”  
Margzat frowned in confusion but did as told; Záhovar promptly let go of the ceiling and landed in his arms, maneuvering herself and giving commands until he cradled her against his wide chest.  
”I need to conserve my strength for the coming battle,” she told the abashed Uruk. ”And under no circumstances will I wade in this reeking muck. So do not trip now, krîtar; you would not enjoy the consequences.” Margzat walked stiffly, all his focus bent on not losing his footing on the treacherous riverbed or dropping the little Officer.  
”That's why she's the boss!” Zosh concluded.  
Praktash watched them with a happy leer. ”Now you're just feedin' my fap-material, master.”  
Záhovar arched an eyebrow. ”How so?”  
”I just got a new idea for a three-way fuck.”  
”Oh? You simply _must_ tell me all about it at a later date.”  
”I sure will! Got some real sweet details what might interest ya.”  
”Do they involve cudgels?”  
”...They might.”  
”Mmn. I shall have to think about it. Long and hard.”  
”It sure is.”  
Margzat was now so mortified and embarrassed that he could not even talk; he stomped through the water like a walking statue, nostrils flaring and blushing furiously. Praktash had to look away to not explode with laughter at the sight. Urkhish and Draumaturz kept stumbling and had to lean on each other for support, while Golnauk stoically trudged up front with a big grin.  
Záhovar made an annoyed little sound. ”Krîtar?”  
”Mrf?”  
”Do relax; you are being uncomfortable.”  
That was too much for poor Urkhish; he started laughing so hard that he could no longer go on, but had to lean against the muddy wall for support. Draumaturz did the same soon after while clutching his stomach and Zosh nearly lost her grip on the ceiling from laughing too hard. Margzat looked like he wanted nothing more than to whip some respect back into their insubordinate hides, but he was under order to carry the High Officer so he could not follow his heart's wish.  
”If they didn't know ya were gone before, they sure do now,” Sulmurz commented but could not keep from grinning.  
”It matters little,” Záhovar replied with a contented smirk. ”I _want_ them to know, to be prepared... and to despair.”  
  
  
”What'd I tell ya?” Maturz said when the report of the Uruks' escape came. ”Shitty knotwork.”  
”So what'll we do now?” Shakraum asked. ”If they get out-”  
”How'll they get out? Build a boat? There's no way outta that tunnel, you know that!”  
”They could climb,” Zrîum pointed out.  
”Nar, the ceiling won't hold their weight. An' the water's too deep. They'll either drown or return here; put some guards around the well. And this time they'll use sharp arrows!”  
”Where ya goin'?” Mîrish asked when she rose.  
”To my den,” Maturz replied with a leer. ”Gotta try out my new plaything, don'tcha think?”  
”Need a hand?” Shakraum asked while wiping some booze off her chin.  
”Already got one. You two keep the fort down while I'm gone.”

By the time he heard footsteps rapproach once more, Graznikh had calmed down. He couldn't dwell on the fates of others now; this was about survival. A clawed hand landed on his abdomen and he sneered.  
”Sorry little lady; I prefer Uruk cock.” Then he groaned in pain as a tightly bound bunch of thin, slender twigs hit his belly, leaving a stinging mark behind.  
”Mind yer tongue, opa-snaga.”  
Graznikh leered. ”Why? I got no better use for it.” Another hit, this time on his thigh.  
”I can think of a few,” Varrgra's voice hissed in his ear.  
”Oh, fuck off! I'm _not_ rutting _you!_ ” The next hit landed on his throat and made him gag and gasp for air. At the same time, a hand began to knead and tug his cock.  
”You'll rut whomever we tell ya to, opa-snaga,” Maturz purred. Graznikh could not help but feel another tingle at the sound, and his cock responded accordingly.  
Varrgra laughed. ”Will ya look at that! Th' snaga likes it!”  
”Of course he likes it,” Maturz chuckled. ”They all do in the end.”  
”G'won then,” Graznikh purred. ”Do your worst. Doesn't matter how good you are, you'll never top the Elf.”  
Varrgra frowned. ”Elf?”  
”Yup,” Graznikh leered. ”Best fuck I ever had, and I think she'd agree if she was here. Liked it so much she even kept the spawn. How d'ya like that; a whole litter o' half-Elf, half-Orc cubs runnin' around in some Elf stronghold out west, eh? And the proud daddy lyin' right here!”  
”You sick fuck!” Varrgra exclaimed. ”What, ya rut goats too?”  
”If I'm desperate enough... What you think you could outdo 'em?” The next hit from the twigs landed right across his cock and Graznikh thrashed and howled in pain. ”You shit-licking Dwarf-rutters! Fuuuck!!”  
”He's bluffing,” Maturz told Varrgra. ”Gag him; that mouth's ruining the mood.”  
”Good,” Graznikh growled. ”I hope ya go so dry you hafta rub salt in there for lube!”  
”Well, he's witty!” Varrgra snickered as she tied the leather gag tight around his head. ”Can I bounce on him a li'l when I get bored with Kraash?”  
”With or without the gag?”  
”Without!”  
”Takes a sick fuck like you to enjoy that kind o' thing,” Maturz chuckled. She removed her loincloth and straddled Graznikh's face with a steady grip on his hair, rubbing herself against him. ”Sniff that, opa-snaga, bet ya haven't had had something like this in a sweet long while...” She laughed when Graznikh could no longer hold his breath and was forced to inhale. ”Bet ya don't even know what it is ye're sniffing... Well I'll tell ya; I'm about to go into heat. And when I do, I'll rut ya 'til your balls run dry!”  
”That's gonna take a while! He's got big ones,” Varrgra commented and scraped them with her claws, giggling at his loud, muffled protests and futile attempts to get away. Then she slapped them hard and laughed as he roared in pain. Maturz's fist in his hair kept him from smashing his face into her cunt as his body convulsed; instead, his forehead began to bleed where his hair had been torn out.  
”Cut that out!” Maturz growled while licking the blood off her knuckles. ”Don't crush 'em yet! You can play that kinda games once I'm done with him.”  
Graznikh tried to choke back the whimpers that seemed to force their way up his throat and was suddenly glad for the blindfold; it hurt so bad his eyes watered.  
”Poor snaga,” Maturz cooed. ”Let's treat ya right, shall we?” She began to tug his cock and despite the pain, it sprung to life again. Soon he was writhing under her skilled hands.  
”Don't get ideas,” Maturz chuckled as she mounted him. ”This isn't for you. This is... Fuck..!”  
”Good?” Varrgra snickered. ”Or d'ya need a helping hand?”  
Maturz only groaned in reply. Graznikh kept giving her looks of 'is that all you've got?' until she slapped him hard and turned her back to him. Soon she came with a hoarse roar.  
”Gimme?” Varrgra asked Maturz as she dismounted and took her place when she nodded. She pinched one of Graznikh's nipples so hard that he thought she was going to tear it off and dug the claws of her other hand into his chest muscle.  
”If you spunk, I'll bite this off!” she told him with an insane grin and began to ride him hard. Her hips smacked down against his pelvic bone so hard that he grunted in pain instead of pleasure, and her claws raked and gouged his chest over and over.  
  
  
When Záhovar and her followers reached the well, they stopped well out of sight from the archers that Mikbork warned about above.  
”What now?” Praktash whispered. ”They'll pepper us the moment we get up there!”  
”I shall cast a spell that will allow you to climb up unspoilt,” Záhovar explained. ”A spell that will hit them where it hurts.”  
”An' how will _you_ get up there?”  
Záhovar looked at Margzat. ”Toss me.”  
Margzat's eyes grew round. ”Whut?”  
”I cannot climb the distance; you will have to toss me!”  
”You sure about this?” Praktash asked with a concerned voice. ”I see a number o' things that could go wrong.”  
Záhovar nodded. ”It is imperative that I get up there fast enough to release the spell before the archers hit me.”  
”The first one to mention this'll be supper,” Margzat rumbled quietly as he repositioned the little Officer and readied himself for the throw. Then he rushed forward and sent her flying up towards the hole with a bellow.  
Margzat's aim was true; Záhovar grabbed the roof beam of the hut before landing amid the stunned archers. As her feet touched the ground, a black miasma rose from them, rapidly spreading out through the door and rushing through the cavern beyond. The archers bolted in terror and soon panicked screams and howls could be heard from outside.  
  
When Varrgra finally got off him, Graznikh was in so much pain that he had trouble thinking straight. They still had not let him finish and he could not decide what he preferred; that they would accidentally make him spunk or abuse him hard enough that he would pass out. He whimpered as Maturz mounted him again, but she could not rut for long before she was interrupted.  
”Maturz! Maaaturz!!”  
”Fuck off, I'm busy!!” Maturz roared and rode him harder.  
”But the cubs, they're killing the cubs!!”  
Shakraum jumped to her feet with a panicked growl and rushed out. Moments later, a terrified howl echoed up the tunnel. Maturz stood with a snarl and followed the sound, leaving Graznikh to finally get a moment's rest. He tried to hear what had caused the interruption, but could not make sense of the cacophony. _Or maybe I'm just worn out._ He tried to break free as he heard footsteps approach, but to no avail; the ropes were too strong. _I don't wanna die!  
_ ”Buddy?”  
If Graznikh had been able to cry, he would have done so as he heard Praktash's voice. As it was, he could only reply with a muffled moan. Soon a pair of bright green eyes appeared at the fucknest's entrance.  
”My poor buddy!” Praktash exclaimed when he saw the state Graznikh was in and hurried to untie him. Graznikh shot up with a snarl the moment he was free, but Praktash stopped him.  
”I'm gonna tear that bitch's cunt out!!”  
”Nar buddy, you're not goin' anywhere.”  
Graznikh glared him square in the eye. ”Back. Off!”  
”Nar,” Praktash replied sternly. ”You're not in shape to tear anythin' off right now. Sit down!”  
”Why?”  
”'Cause this,” he grabbed his cock, ”isn't gonna go limp on it's own.”  
Graznikh cried out in pain and backed away. ”Bugger off, that shit hurts!”  
”Sure do, an' it'll keep hurtin' unless you deal with it. They drugged ya, probably somethin' that was meant to be calmin' but that didn't work the right way, berserker that you are. Now you'll sit down, lean back an' let me take care of the problem.”  
Graznikh gave him a desperate look. ”Do I look like I'm in the mood for a suck?!”  
”Nar, you look like you're in _need_ of one.” Praktash knelt and patted the furs in front of him while licking his lips suggestively. Graznikh sank down onto his knees with a defeated sigh.  
Praktash's soft mouth felt like balm after the rough treatment he had been through. Praktash did not tease or threaten like he used to do, but slowly and surely worked him ever closer to the peak. Graznikh shamelessly voiced his delight and howled as the sweet climactic ecstacy finally washed through him and into the Uruk's mouth that eagerly milked him for every last drop. Once the paroxysms faded, he fell forward over his beloved buddy's back.  
Praktash swallowed a few times and licked his lips before attempting to get up, only to find that Graznikh held him down. ”Buddy?”  
”I thought you were dead,” came the hitching whisper. Praktash turned his head and when he saw the look in Graznikh's eyes, he felt something break inside.  
”I woulda told you, buddy!” he whispered back. ”I never meant for ya to believe that bluff! But I came up with it on the go, I had to try to get us outta there!”  
”Shut up,” Graznikh hissed while pulling him up. Then he gave him a fierce hug. ”You're not dead! I don't give a shit about the where-tos'n what-fors!”  
”Now you're just bein' cute with me,” Praktash purred as he returned the hug.  
”Shut up,” came the muffled reply from somewhere near his neck.  
”So what's going on out there?” Graznikh asked later when Praktash dabbed healing salve on his face.  
”Hold still,” Praktash told him before replying. ”From the look of things before I went in here, Záhovar's gonna make herself a blood bath, startin' with the chief plashnak.”  
”Good,” Graznikh growled. ”I hope it lasts a while. Oww!” He looked down at his ruined chest and winced. ”I never thought I'd ask this, but... D'you still have some o' that scar-repelling salve?”  
Praktash gave him a surprised look. ”You serious?”  
Graznikh nodded. ”I don't wanna be reminded of this every time I take my shirt off. Put some on my face too while you're at it. I'm not gonna give her the pleasure of marking me.”  
Praktash clicked his tongue as he obeyed. ”You're gettin' fancy! Maybe you should get some new tattoos when we get back to Lugburz, to celebrate.”  
”If it continues like this, I wonder if we ever _will_ get back,” Graznikh muttered. Since his clothes were nowhere to be found, he tore a piece of the leather sheet that covered the entrance to the den and tied it around his waist. Then he limped out to see what was going on.  
  
Záhovar stood in the center of the cavern. In one hand she held a large piece of black cloth and in the other she held her glaive. She looked so small and fragile, surrounded by furious Orcs who would no doubt tear her to pieces were they but given a chance, and Graznikh had to struggle to resist the impulse to run down there and shield her body with his own. But there was no need; she already had hostages that would ensure that the Orcesses danced according to her wishes. Every cub in the main cavern was surrounded by the miasma she had released, so dark that the Orcs' usually dark-piercing eyes could not see them, and each one radiated a dread so intense that none who ventured close could bear to remain. The mothers of the afflicted were now swarming Maturz, Mîrish and Shakraum, pleading and demanding that they do something, _anything,_ to protect their offspring.  
”Why the fuck has anyone not killed that dushatâr yet?!” Maturz roared. She grabbed a spear from a nearby weapon rack and flung it at her, but Urkhish caught it before it reached her and broke it in two before returning the pieces.  
”Are you crazy?!” Shakraum shouted. ”Quit pissin' it off! What if it kills the cubs?!”  
”Oh, she won't,” Maturz growled as she began to advance. ”If she does that, we'll fall on her and her petty Uruks like a rockslide!”  
”I am not the one you should fear,” Záhovar called. ”The only one endangering your cubs stands among you already.” She hissed at Margzat, who was about to block Maturz's path, and he immediately stepped back.  
”Who the fuck are you?!” Maturz roared in her face.  
”I shall be merciful,” Záhovar hissed with a voice of steel, ”so I give you this one chance at prolonging your life; submit, surrender and grovel!”  
Maturz laughed out loud. _”This_ is the little cunt my opa-snaga thought would save him? You think that tattered pack could do shit against all o' us in here?”  
As the echo of her words died, an eerie sound rose from the dark little spots in the cavern; a distant wailing howl, like children crying far away. One of the Orcesses shrieked and threw herself towards the spot where her cubs had disappeared, only to fall spasming to the ground the moment she touched it.  
”It is not me you should fear,” Záhovar said, ”but the Great Eye.” With that, she casually threw the black cloth on the ground between them.  
”Izzat supposed to... scare...” Maturz began to sneer, but soon fell silent. ”What the fuck..?”  
The cloth slowly began to rise as if some invisible force filled it from inside. The Orcs stared in disbelief and growing fear as the hooded robe filled out into the shape of a man, tall and menacing with eyes glowing like the molten rock of the Mountain in an unseen face, hoarfrost covering the empty ground where he should have been standing. As the great wraith reached out and placed its invisible hands on her shoulders, Maturz began to scream. And scream. And scream...  
Several of her accomplices turned to flee but soon found that all exits were blocked, as if they had never been there at all. Terrified squeals and screams were heard from the perimeter at the discovery, but Záhovar seemed complately unphased; she stared, transfixed, at the Nazgûl.  
  
After a while, Maturz abruptly went limp and her screams were replaced by an eerie silence.  
”The thief has been caught, the punishment meted out,” Záhovar proclaimed. ”Lugburz has no mercy for those who oppose it.” With that, the shadows dispersed and the cubs were free. Záhovar remained passive and allowed the chaotic reunion to complete itself before she spoke anew. ”Who were her closest affiliates?”  
The crowd immediately jumped Shakraum, Mîrish, Zrîum and Skazgat and shoved them forward until they stood alone before her, a frightened, shaking quartet. The Nazgûl made a shrill sound like a whetstone against steel as its empty hood turned towards them. Praktash squeezed his eyes shut, tears of dread burning behind them, and gripped Graznikh shoulders so hard that it hurt.  
”Buddy?” Graznikh whispered. ”You alright?”  
Praktash shook his head. ”I had enough of wraiths in Blog Shakâmb!”  
”This one's from there?”  
”Nar... I dunno what that is, but it's no regular wraith. It's too powerful. Can'tcha feel it? It's bloody everywhere!”  
”Searching for others who's hiding,” Graznikh realised. _Is that why Záhovar left? To ask it for help?_  
Shakraum growled as she faced the High Officer. ”I'm not goin' back! Kill me if ya like, suck me dry, but I'm not goin'!”  
”I didn't do anything!” Zrîum pleaded. ”I never asked for 'em to take me, I never did! Don't... Don't... Don't...”  
Mîrish only stared in pure terror at the Officer's icy face.  
”I don't wanna go back to th' pits!!” Skazgat howled.  
”And who has said that you will do so?” Záhovar asked quietly. The silence that followed was so thick that it could have been cut with a knife.   
Mîrish tentatively took a step forward. ”You... You won't send us there? You'll let us stay?”  
Záhovar arched a corner of her mouth. ”No, I will not. And yes, I will... _allow_ it. There are conditions, of course.”  
Shakraum joined Mîrish. ”Tell us.”  
”You will remain in contact with Lugburz, and not stray beyond its reach, for there is no place you can go where it cannot find you. You will breed with the males it sends you. But you will decide amongst yourselves who breeds with whom, you will not be forced or strained to the limits of your capacity, and you will inform the representatives of the Census Archive of the combination and the results. Male cubs will, when they are deemed ready to leave their caretakers, be sent to Lugburz and be integrated into the regular bootcamps; the females you may keep here. In return, you will be given a provision of tools, weapons, clothes, food or whatever else you require based on the number of cubs provided.”  
Shakraum and Mîrish shared a look. ”And..?”  
Záhovar threw her hands out with a smirk. ”That is all.”  
  
A susurrus of voices began to debate the conditions.  
”Ya think she's serious?” Shakraum asked.  
”Does it matter?” Mîrish replied. ”'S not like we got a choice here!”  
”But... sendin' our cubs there-”  
”It's better than what we used to do to them,” Zrîum pointed out.  
”True,” Mîrish agreed. ”And that prov... prosivi... stuff we'll get might mean better chances in the hunts'n raids. I say it's a good deal.”  
Zrîum and Skazgat, who had been eagerly listening in behind her back, nodded vigorously. Shakraum looked sceptical, but eventually caved in. ”Arright. 'Least it's not the pits again.” The Orcesses turned back to Záhovar, who had been waiting patiently.  
”We, uh, accept yer terms,” Mîrish proclaimed. ”Our _male_ cubs for food, weapons'n the other stuff.”  
”Put 'em to good use,” Shakraum added, ”an' know they come from the best.”  
”It is sealed then,” Záhovar said and turned to the Nazgûl, which stood silent while she spoke. ”Has it been witnessed?”  
_”We have Seen,”_ the wraith hissed.  
Záhovar nodded. ”Then it is time for us to depart.” She turned to Mîrish. ”I shall send a message with instructions to the nearest outpost, and pass by here on the return journey to see that everything goes as planned. Should any trouble arise, you may send a runner to Ruzh Moraut; have them mention my name to the Quartermaster, it should be all you need to set things straight.”  
Mîrish nodded. ”Ruzh Moraut... Right. Will do, uhh...”  
Záhovar. Lug-durbatar Záhovar.”  
”See!” Zrîum exclaimed. ”I tried to tell ya; that's the one! Maturz wouldn't listen, an' see what happened to her!”  
Shakraum scowled. ”Skai... Wish she'd been here to see this.”  
”You daft?” Skazgat asked. ”She'd refuse it all just 'cause it came from Lugburz. Nar, 's better this way.”  
”But... who'll lead us?” Mîrish turned to face her and the two Orcesses sized each other up briefly.  
”You're the strongest,” Mîrish said eventually.  
”Aye,” Shakraum replied, ”but you've the brains. We'll do this together.” Then she eyed Zosh and Mikbork, who were following the departing High Officer. ”Ye're not stayin'? Could use a snuffler or two.”  
Zosh turned. ”You daft? I was gone for half a piss an' look how bad they fucked up! They _need_ me!”  
”Keep dreaming, snaga,” Sulmurz sneered.  
”B'sides,” Zosh continued while pointing at Praktash, ”someone's gotta watch his arse.”  
”Everyone does,” Praktash replied with a grin. ”I've got the most watched arse in all of Lugburz.” He squeaked and jumped away as a number of hands descended on said arse. ”Hey, fuck off!! I gotta walk outta here!”

The Nazgûl, which had stood passive during the exchange, now strode up to Záhovar. _”This is unconventional,”_ it hissed.  
”But not forbidden,” Záhovar replied, ”and it will be worthwhile in the end.”  
” _And if you are proven wrong?”_  
”Then I shall do whatever He commands to correct my misjudgement.” She gave the great wraith a deep bow. ”I am in thy debt for this aid.”  
The wraith only stared blankly at her for a moment before leaving without a word. Everyone in the cavern breathed a collective sigh of relief as the dread miasma lifted.  
”Not to ruin the mood,” Graznikh told Záhovar, ”but we're two heads short. I saw Kraash in here not long ago, but Ghakû's still gone.”  
”He's in th' healer's hut,” Mîrish said. ”The other, well... I think Varrgra dragged him off.”  
”Hullo chief,” Ghakû called cheerfully as Graznikh entered the healer's hut, closely followed by Sulmurz. ”And drartul. Didn't expect to see either o' ya again.”  
”Takes more than a bit o' plashnak to take me down,” Graznikh chuckled. ”Good to see ya, ushatârkû. Looks like ye're doing well for yourself,” he added with a nod towards the drinking skin in Ghakû's hand.  
”Aye, Sagrurz here's a real treat,” he said and nodded towards the old Orcess who was sitting in a corner and tying bundles of herbs onto a leather string. She muttered something about silvertongued rascals and gave him a venomous glance that Ghakû returned with a leer.  
”How's the shoulder?” Graznikh asked. ”You ready to march?”  
”Aye, but the shield'll hafta wait.” He supported himself with his good arm and slowly got to his feet with a groan. Then he shot Graznikh's near-naked appearance a look. ”You gonna flaunt it for the ladies all night?”  
”Shut up,” came the sullen reply and both Ghakû and Sulmurz choked back laughter. ”I'll see about getting some cover-up before we leave,” Graznikh grumbled as he left the hut. ”Skai, I've had enough o' women for a while! Present company excluded,” he added rapidly when he spotted Záhovar nearby and realised that she had heard his every word. She gave him an appreciative look-over before ordering Margzat to go and find the last member of their haphazard little group.

After a bit of searching, they found and dragged a loudly protesting Kraash out of one of the upper chambers. Varrgra was almost as angry as he and had to be restrained to not attack the Uruks as they dragged him off.  
”Have you already forgotten that you are bound to Lugburz?” Záhovar asked him coolly as he was dumped at her feet. ”You have caused me enough trouble to warrant a rather inventive punishment, but unfortunately there is no time.”  
”Fuck yer trouble,” Kraash snarled. I've had it with Officers'n Uruks! Go find another opa-snaga!”  
”Kraash,” Ghakû warned. ”Don't get yerself killed now.”  
”'Killed'? I'd prefer that o'er this stupid as fuck 'mission'!”  
”And I am disinclined to give you that mercy,” Záhovar hissed. ”You will remain alive for as long as I see fit! And you _will_ submit!!”  
”I don't give a shit 'bout yer threats,” Kraash spat. ”You can keep yer tokens'n fancy shit; I'm staying right here!”  
Záhovar glared coldly at his back as he shrugged the Uruks' hands off and began to walk away. Then her face split into an insane smile of depraved evil; it was the only warning she gave him before she slammed into him from behind. Kraash roared and fought back but had little chance as Záhovar tore his loincloth off, not caring whether she shredded the skin underneath, and began to stroke his cock.  
Graznikh looked at Praktash. ”What the fuck is she doing?”  
Praktash shook his head; he was the only one who could fully see what was going on, and his body refused to obey him and unsee it. He could not avoid watching as Záhovar reached for the Unseen and slammed Compulsion in Kraash's face. There was no finesse to it, no subtlety; she pushed it in place with the brute force of her well-trained mind and Kraash was defenseless against it. Soon he was groaning and howling in rapt ecstasy under her hands. Then she let him go and as she stood and straightened her clothes as if nothing had happened, Praktash finally regained control of his limbs and ran.  
  
Kraash was writhing and gasping on the ground and twitched as Záhovar gave him a little kick. ”See me.”  
Slowly he looked at her, his jaw slack as if he had been hit in the head. Then his eyes widened as he spotted the shining divinity that towered above him, so bright and so dark that his eyes stung and his heart hurt, watching him with blue eyes that pierced his very core and revealed it all. There was no escape from those eyes; through every moment they spoke of how pathetic and cherished he was, how useless and wanted, how hated and loved, and suddenly his whole existence was sucked into a void where everything that mattered was a hint of acknowledgement from _her._  
”You can't take him!” Varrgra growled. ”He's _my_ opa-snaga now!” She bared her fangs as she advanced on Záhovar, but Margzat and and Sulmurz stopped her.  
”Would you like to share his fate?” Záhovar asked calmly. ”Do you wish to grovel helplessly at my feet, worshipping the ground for every step I take upon it, all the while screaming on the inside for the freedom you will never again have until your mind is left utterly broken?”  
Varrgra snarled, but after a few warning growls from Mîrish and Shakraum she backed away.  
”Think twice before you challenge me again,” Záhovar warned. ”There are far worse punishments than death for those who defy the might of the Tower.” She patted Kraash on the head and the scarred Orc purred happily.

  
  
It was too much. Praktash ran blindly until he had left the crowd far behind. His legs kept moving in a desperate attempt to flee from the memories and the ghosts of a half-life he had fought so hard to forget but that never seemed to stop haunting him. He wasn't even aware that someone had followed him until he heard Graznikh's voice calling for him to stop. He obeyed as soon as he was able; his insides turned themselves out and he promptly leaned against a tree and retched hard. Graznikh stopped beside him, panting hard, and lifted his red hair out of the way while he heaved and gagged. Once his stomach was empty, they stood in silence for a while. Then Praktash looked up. The night sky was still dotted with stars but in the East, the horizon was slowly paling, hinting at the approach of dawn.  
”Graznikh?” he asked in a small, whimpering voice.  
”I'm here, buddy. You know I am.”  
Praktash staggered back a few streps before he squatted down and began to cry.  
”I'm such a fuckin' weaklin',” he sobbed. ”All the rest just stood there like it was everynight stuff, an' I ran like a bloody coward!”  
”If that's what you think, you didn't take too close a look at their faces,” Graznikh replied. ”I don't think anyone'll sleep tight after tonight. Hearing about Officers and what they can do is one thing. Seeing it happen right in front o' ya's another thing. I'm pretty sure a lot of the folks back there wish they had your guts.”  
Praktash glanced miserably at him. ”What?”  
Graznikh grinned a little. ”Well, we all just saw Záhovar grab a guy's dick and wipe out his mind through it for turning his back on her. And then you go and do the same thing.”  
”...I didn't grab anyone's dick.”  
”Nar, but... That's not what I... Skai, never mind! I'm no good at this shit anyway.” Graznikh looked away and pretended to be embarrassed, but could not keep the mask when Praktash flashed his teeth in a brief grin despite the tears. ”But I gotta ask one thing; how did you know where the tunnel was?”  
Praktash frowned. ”Whaddya mean?”  
”For all I and everyone else know, you ran straight through a wall of solid rock back there. I almost didn't dare follow ya at first; had to feel my way through.”  
Praktash looked down, still frowning. ”I guess... I told ya that thing she did to my eyes never wore off. I didn't know the entrances looked solid; they just looked fuzzy to me.” he looked up with a disbelieving look. ”I ran through a _wall?_ ”  
”Vanished in thin air,” Graznikh grinned. ”You shoulda seen the look on Margzat's face; he looked about ready to drop.”  
”Now _that's_ gonna be an interestin' talk later,” Praktash chuckled mirthlessly. ”What about you? You alright?”  
”Nar, but I'll manage. Been a boytoy before, only not this rough. Crazy bitch... My balls're gonna ache for days.”  
”I could kiss 'em better,” Praktash offered with a half-hearted leer.  
”Not with Uruk kisses!” Graznikh exclaimed with pretended horror. That made Praktash laugh for real, and every look at his buddy's face made him laugh harder. Graznikh kept exaggerating his expression until Praktash was rolling on the floor.  
”Well, I'm flattered you find my suffering so hilarious,” he commented with a grin.  
”Now you're soundin' like Sully,” Praktash complained as he got back up.  
”Nar, he's not that big a whine.” He affectionately wrapped an arm around Praktash's waist. ”C'mon; let's get back to the others.”  
Praktash hesitated. ”I don't know, buddy... I don't know if I can face that just yet.”  
”Just look the other way,” Graznikh suggested. ”I'll help keep ya distracted if you wanna. I doubt she'll hold him for long anyway; it'll be over soon.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kraash's mention about the tribe that drowned has a bit more to it than it seems. In case you need to refresh your memory, go to the last paragraph of A Cry In The Dark - chapter 9, "A Light Behind".


	10. A Lazy Night Out

”Y'know you want it.”  
The hot whisper lingered in Sulmurz's ear, and a needy little whimper escaped his throat as he lingered in that place halfway between sleeping and waking.  
”Y'know deep down, all you want is my hands all over ya...”  
The deep purr brought Sulmurz a little closer to waking. He had the feeling that there was something he was supposed to do, but could not quite grasp it. All he really wanted was to stay beneath the warm blanket and enjoy the lips that kept teasing his ear... _Wait. Lips?!_  
The sudden cold gust of air on his wet ear made him start awake. He scanned the tent in confusion, but it was empty. Sulmurz breathed a sigh of relief. _Just a dream..._ Then he felt his ear; it was soaked with something that felt, smelled and looked disturblingly like saliva and spunk. He grabbed the blanket and began to furiously rub it against his ear. _That fucking Uruk!!_

Outside, Margzat was busy serving breakfast. The Orc women had given them some kind of big fish with feelers around the mouth, and it had taken him quite some time to figure out how to cook it. Eventually he had just roasted the whole thing on a spit.  
”Usually I pass on fish,” Graznikh commented. ”But this wasn't too bad.”  
”'Least it doesn't taste like chicken,” Ghakû said.  
”Or that mash made o' dried eggs we had in Thaurband,” Golnauk added.  
Draumaturz shuddered at the memory.  
”'Least I tried!” Margzat growled. ”An' you ate with an appetite!”  
”They didn't dare anythin' else, not with the looks you gave them,” Praktash chuckled. Draumaturz grinned at that, but looked away with an embarrassed grimace as Praktash winked at him. _Skai, just come at me if that's what'cha want!  
_ Sulmurz was in a particularly bad mood when he joined them. He took his share without a word to the others and snarled at Praktash when he offered him a drinking skin. Graznikh gave them both a suspicious glance which Praktash responded to with a shrug and a look of wide-eyed, innocent bewilderment.  
  


Once the group had collected their equipment and put some distance between themselves and the Orcess tribe, they made camp for a while to tend the wounded. The order came from Záhovar, so Graznikh did not yet have to face the challenges for leadership that he knew would eventually come. Ghrazagh was especially bad; his knee swelled until it was bigger than his head and his fever kept rising until he was burning hot to the touch. On the third night, Praktash was certain that they were going to lose him. After a flash of intuition he did consulting with Záhovar. She was still weary, but agreed to lend him a hand and with a combination of medicine and sorcery they managed to cool the inflammation and turn things around. On the sixth night, he returned to consciousness briefly and continued to do so more and more often after that.  
In an unexpected moment of kindness, Záhovar also froze one of the drinking skins, shaking it so that it filled not with solid ice but rather with an icy slush, and gave it to Graznikh who accepted it with unbridled gratitude. He was still sore from the abuse he had suffered and it had gotten worse as they walked; now he purred with relief as he placed the wonderfully cool skin against his roughed-up crotch.  
”Fucked ya til ya broke, did they?” Sulmurz snickered.  
”You wouldn'ta fared any better,” Graznikh murmured as he closed his eyes with a content grin.  
”What, ya don't like plashnak?”  
”Why the fuck would I want some lowlife cunt? Nar, this,” he gestured towards his lower body, ”belongs to my master. Whenever she wants it.” He opened his eyes to peer meaningly at Záhovar. She gave him a lopsided smirk, then glared at Kraash who kept eyeing her drinking skin as though he wished to take its place.  
”Can you let him go now?!” Praktash asked with an uneasy scowl.   
”Why?” Draumaturz asked. ”He looks happy enough to me.”  
”But I'm not!” Praktash snarled. ”I'm sick of seein' that shit!”  
”Very well,” Záhovar said. ”Sulmurz; tie him up.”  
Once Sulmurz had done as told, she withdrew the compulsion from Kraash's mind. At first he stared at her as if he could not quite remember how he had ended up where he was. Then he began to scream. Praktash hid behind Margzat and pressed his hands to his ears; Sulmurz gave him a gloating sneer as he noticed the Uruk's distress.  
Kraash kept screaming and thrashing for the worse part of a toll. Once he began to use words, he howled for them to release him.  
”Do not be foolish,” Záhovar replied. ”You would only try to harm yourself; we cannot have that, now can we?”  
”Lug-durbatar?” Ghakû asked. ”Can I... Will ya lemme have a chat with him, a bit off to the side?”  
After a moment's thought, Záhovar nodded. ”Impose upon him what kind of behaviour will ensure that this never happens to him again.”  
Ghakû nodded. ”I'll do my best.”  
  
While Ghakû dragged the still whimpering Kraash out of camp, Záhovar went the other way to get a moment to herself. Despite all that had happened, things had worked out for the best in the end, but at what cost? More than half her following had been incapacitated by injury, one of the pack horses had disappeared, taking its cargo with it, her own horse was injured and could not be ridden, and they were still a long way from the city-state of Rhûn. _Who knows what awaits us before we reach the sea? The Wainriders are not all accounted for._ She had considered bringing some of the Orc women along, but had decided against it for several reasons. One was that the Orcs' high nativity could pose a problem, since Praktash did not have enough of the heat-suppressing herbs to keep them all in check. Another was that she did not trust them, rogues that they were. A third was, no matter how she tried to deny it to herself, that she did not like the way some of them looked at Graznikh and Sulmurz. They were _her_ snaga. True, she had not openly stated any demand that they be exclusively hers, but still... So far they had both remained loyal to a fault, but would that continue to be the case if alternatives were freely given and placed right in front of them? Záhovar did not know, and that lack of surety distressed her more than she wanted to admit.  
So deep in thought was she that she did not hear the approaching footsteps until they were right behind her. She spun with a hiss, only to face Graznikh. He gave her a confident little grin and sauntered over to take a piss against a nearby tree. His tough stance wilted a little and he choked back a whimper as he palmed his sore dick.  
”Why do you always relieve yourself against vertical surfaces?” Záhovar asked. ”Would it not... bespatter you less if you simply did it on the ground?”  
”Less directions to keep an eye on,” Graznikh replied. ”Safer that way.”  
”So why not turn your back against the tree instead?”  
”Because then everyone'd see my dick. And there's always some touchy bastard what'd take offense and try to lop it off.”  
”Since when have Orcs been concerned about a lack of decorum?”  
”Since Sulmurz joined our ranks. Besides,” he added with a leer, ”I gotta keep _some_ secrets, don'tcha think? Keeps things more interesting.” Then he gave her a curious look. ”Why don't you stand up while you're at it?”  
”For anatomical reasons.”  
”I've no idea what that means.”  
”It means that it is easier to keep my clothes from being soiled that way.”  
”Ah. Could you, uhh... not talk? Gotta concentrate.” Záhovar nodded graciously and watched the surrounding greenery while Graznikh finished. Once he was done, he shook himself adequately dry and put things back in place. Then he readjusted his loincloth and wiped his hands on his breeches before coming closer to stand beside her. ”So... How ya doing?”  
”Better than I was.” She paused for a moment. ”What krîtar Margzat said back in that stronghold... did he speak truthfully?”  
”Never known him for being the sneaky kind,” Graznikh murmured. ”Aye,” he continued a little louder, ”he's right. I'm in charge now, but Eye alone knows how I'm gonna keep that spot.”  
”What happened?”  
”He was gonna do a suicide maneuver when we got surrounded. We had like fifteen arrows trained at us, and he was gonna make a run for it. I pulled rank and told 'em to put their weapons down, he'd have none o' it. So we fought, and I got out on top... barely.”  
”And now he intends to stay out of every challenge you will undoubtedly receive from the others.”  
Graznikh nodded. ”It won't be pretty. I don't wanna have to kill, but if they don't back down or come at me all at once I might have to make examples.”  
”Then regain his support.”  
”It's not that easy when all he's done is give me the evil eye and sneer whenever I try to talk.”  
”Give him something that you know he wants.”  
Graznikh gave her an incredulous glance. ”You're telling me to give up _Praktash_?!”  
”Of course not!” Then she added with a miscievous smirk; ”he belongs to _me._ I would have both you and the good krîtar remember that.”  
”Or you belong to him,” Graznikh retorted and chuckled at her suddenly impassive face. ”With the way you two go about things, I can never tell which of it is true.”  
”Perhaps that is exactly what I want you to believe,” she replied teasingly.  
”'Course it is, ya scheming little vixen.” He looked down. ”I just wish I deserved that kinda trust.”

Záhovar gave him a strange look. ”Trust?”  
”Aye...” He glanced at her when she remained silent. ”What?”  
Záhovar was staring out into the darkness while worrying her lip. ”How would you define that word?”  
Graznikh frowned. ”What, trust?”  
Záhovar nodded.  
”It's like...” He had to pause and think for a moment before he found the right words. ”It's that someone you can give an order and know that it'll be done the way you want it, even when you don't specify it. It's that someone you can go to sleep next to, knowing they'll watch your back. It's that someone you can say shit to and you know they won't go spreading it across half the mountainside. It's that someone who'll not betray ya, even in a pinch where they'd gain from doing so.”  
”This sounds a lot like your explanation of 'love',” Záhovar pointed out.  
”Aye... I guess the two're kinda similar. Only 'trust' doesn't hafta include fucking.”  
Záhovar returned his smile with a faint one of her own. ”Does 'love'?”  
”I'd prefer if it did,” Graznikh whispered. Then he looked down with a wince. ”Just... maybe not right now.” He looked up in surprise as Záhovar laughed a little.  
”No,” she said. ”I have no wish to watch you suffer.”  
”Nar?” He almost added 'then why did you let me do that for so long?' but bit his tongue and refrained from doing so. He did not want to ruin things, not now. Instead he threw a look up at the sky. ”You gonna sleep today?”  
”Yes, eventually. You have my permission to join me, if you wish.”  
”Might take ya up on that. But first I'm gonna have a chat with the krîtar, see if we can work things out.”  
Záhovar nodded. ”Good. Let me know if you require my assistance.”  
Graznikh nodded and watched her as she left. _How can a few words feel so bloody good?!_ His feet suddenly felt a lot lighter as they carried him towards the campfire where the Uruks huddled, seemingly busy with some kind of group grooming activity. 

  
Margzat sat with his eyes closed and his back turned towards Praktash, who was busy scritching sebum and dirt from his scalp with what was left of his claws. ”I'm thinkin' those blunt little tips do have a use after all,” he purred. ”'At's _nice._..”  
”Told ya I should keep filin' 'em,” Praktash replied with a grin.  
”Ya wouldn't be my Bukrazikh if ya didn't.”  
”I'm not yours. Mind your tongue, krîtar.” Margzat only chuckled.   
”Hey, krîtar?”  
Margzat looked up as Graznikh stopped beside him with a determined scowl. ”Aye... chief.”  
”Let's talk,” Graznikh said and gestured for him to follow. Margzat grimaced at Praktash, who had stopped scritching to give him a nudge of encouragement, and obeyed. Graznikh led him to the edge of the bog, quite a distance from camp.  
”Look,” he began once he stopped. ”I know you're pissed at me, and-”  
”I'm thinkin' it's a little too late for back-trackin',” Margzat rumbled and folded his arms across his chest.  
”I'm not back-tracking,” Graznikh replied. ”I'm closing the ranks.”   
Margzat arched an eyebrow.  
”I know you're pissed at me,” Graznikh began again, ”and I don't expect that to change just 'cause I'm running at the mouth to ya. Sure, I could relegate ya to cook and nothing more, but that'd be a waste o' resources that I can't afford. You're a seasoned commander, I need a taskmaster and right now, Sulmurz isn't all I expected him to be. So whaddya say? Krîtar.”  
Margzat's eyes had narrowed as Graznikh talked and now he cocked his head and gave him a scrutinising look. _I hope he doesn't take this as an insult or another opening to challenge me,_ Graznikh thought. Margzat kept glaring at him for so long that he began to think he would not accept, but then the giant krîtar grinned unexpectedly.  
”Well, ye're not stupid, 'at's for sure,” he concluded.  
Now it was Graznikh's turn to cock his head. ”Meaning..?”  
” _Meanin'_ I'll be yer taskmaster.”  
”So no hard feelings?”  
”'Course there're hard feelin's! But it'll pass. I've been challenged before.” Margzat scowled. ”Just haven't lost in a while. 'Cept to you; I shoulda known how it'd end.”  
”Well, you're not a coward, that's for sure,” Graznikh retorted with a lopsided grin. Margzat chuckled and shook his head; there was still a challenge in his eyes, but nowhere near the open hostility he had displayed at the beginning. A loud cheer followed by hoots and growls made them look back towards the camp.  
”I'm thinkin' we should get back afore they wreck the place,” Margzat rumbled.  
”Agreed,” Graznikh muttered. ”You thirsty? I still got some some o' that swill they gave us in Ruzh Moraut.”  
”Oho?” Margzat gave him a far warmer glance than before. ”Didn't know there was any left.”  
”That's the good part 'bout being small-sized,” Graznikh grinned. ”The booze lasts longer.”  
That made the krîtar laugh in earnest. ”Well, I'll drink to that!” Now that the line of command was clear once more, they could relax and chat as old friends as they walked back to the others.  
 _Another problem solved,_ Záhovar thought with a pleased smirk as she spotted them. The only ones who were in any position to cause real trouble for the new leader now were Ghrazagh and Mûrnaluzh, but the former was incapacitated and the latter had been unusually docile lately. _The loss of his co-conspirators must have struck him a harder blow than I thought. I do hope it lasts._

About a week after they had made camp, Akûl returned. He had a few new scratches and Graznikh found one that looked suspiciously like it was made by warg teeth, but other than that the young warg was in seemingly good health. He greeted both Graznikh and Praktash with usual ferocity and let Mikbork and Zosh rub his belly.  
”I'm thinkin' 'at's the last one,” Margzat rumbled.  
Graznikh nodded. ”Aye, now there's no slowing us down more than necessary.”  
”How ya doin', ushatâr?” Praktash asked as he squatted beside Ghrazagh.  
”Leave me,” Ghrazagh growled weakly. ”I'll only slow ya down, you know 'at! I'm not gonna be a burden.”  
”Don't be silly! We still have the contraption we used for Akûl; it'll hold ya just as well.”  
”Fuck off, I'm not ridin' that thing!”  
”Ya do if I tell ya to,” Margzat growled. ”An' I am! Get in it or get drugged.”  
Ghrazagh growled viciously, humiliation written all over his gnarly features. Then he let out a horse-like snort and laid back down in defeat.  
”Thanks 'Zat!” Praktash chirped.  
”Wasn't doin' it for ya, Bukrazikh,” Margzat chuckled and ruffled his hair.  
Later that evening, after they had packed up and made ready to march, they lifted an exceedingly frustrated and grumpy Ghrazagh onto the travois. Against Praktash's orders he had tried to walk the distance himself, but had soon been felled by his own leg as it gave out underneath him. The sight of the jet of synovial fluid and pus that spurted out of the hole in his knee as he put weight on it had made him faint briefly, allowing the others to move him in peace.  
The pack horse had already been through too much and barely flicked an ear as the snarling Uruk was strapped down behind it. Of course, the other Uruks could not resist mocking him despite Margzat's whip-supported attempts to keep them in check. Praktash snarled at them to leave him patient be, but could not keep from laughing just as hard as the others.  
”You're gonna regret this, ya fuckin' gnats!” Ghrazagh seethed. ”Just wait 'til that leg o' mine's healed, I'll run ya all the way back to Lugburz!!”  
”Easy there, big guy,” Praktash scolded. ”You're not runnin' anywhere for a while, not if you don't wanna walk with a limp for the rest of your life.” Ghrazagh kept muttering incoherently and ignored the snickering idiots in the line.  
  
  
A few nights' journey downstream, Graznikh went scouting while the others made camp. He crept through the undergrowth along the river while making sure not to get too close to the treacherous reeds, all the while keeping ears pricked and nostrils quivering.   
Despite the aimless wandering across the plains and the incident with the Orc females, things finally felt good, especially after Záhovar had warmed up to him. Spooning her for a few nights had let him sleep a little better, so the bone-deep gnawing weariness that had haunted him for so long had abated slightly.  
The only hole in the clouds was Kraash. He was still out of order, which was only to be expected if one was to believe Záhovar. He had gone from outspoken rogue to a shivering wreck who was scared of his own shadow and obeyed her every command without question or second thought, and the only one who bothered with him was Ghakû who administered the drugs Praktash gave him. It had given Graznikh a lot to think about regarding his own condition and he had questioned Praktash as gently as he could on the matter. Praktash had tried to explain what the compulsion spell did to the victim on the inside, but had soon been triggered into a full-scale anxiety attack and it had taken Graznikh and Záhovar several hours to calm him down. Graznikh felt like shit for causing his buddy such distress, but Praktash refused to blame him for it.  
”Let's just move on an' forget about it,” he had said when Graznikh tried to make up for his mistake. But from then on, Praktash had been sleeping in the middle of the uzhâk, as far away from both Kraash and Graznikh as he could.  
Graznikh studied the murky water beyond the reeds. _This river must be leading to a lake or to the Sea. But there's no telling how far we are from all that. For all I know it could be running all the way up over the top o' the world._  
As he came to a small clearing, several things caught his attention in rapid succession. The first was the scent of smoke, faint but wafting up along the river. The second was a newly formed tree stump, cut by axes. The third was the axe that had cut it, leaning against another tree nearby. Next to it was the Man who had undoubtedly been wielding it, asleep under a simple lean-to. Graznikh leered, all his previous concerns forgotten. _Oh,_ this _'ll be good!_ He quietly backed out of the clearing.

As the Man woke up, he found himself surrounded by a band of leering Orcs.  
”Good mornin',” Sulmurz purred as he tested the axe in his hand. ”Crappy steel ya got here.”  
The man said something unintelligible, his voice almost falsetto-like from fear.  
”Wonderful,” Graznikh said dryly.  
”I'm thinkin' there's no real point in interrogatin' this one,” Margzat said.  
”Ya know, I think you're right. But then what will we do?”  
The man shouted something and tried to get up, but fell back down with a cry as Sulmurz pretended to charge him with the axe.  
”I've got an idea,” Golnauk said and grabbed one of the Man's legs. Then he began to wiggle his claws against his bare sole.  
”Oh, that's just _evil,_ ” Graznikh snickered as the man began to kick and scream.  
  
Meanwhile, Praktash had remained in camp. Záhovar found him by the fireplace, poking a burning coal with a stick while staring languidly into the flames.  
”You did not join the others.”  
”Not in the mood,” he replied quietly.  
”That makes two of us, then.” She threw her mattress on the ground sat down crosslegged on it on the opposite side of the fire.  
”Can I ask ya somethin'?”   
”Ask.”  
”What d'you see when you look at that wraith? The one what followed ya.”  
Záhovar met his gaze through the flames. ”I see a pale shadow of what it used to be, when it was still alive.”  
”That makes two of us.” He fell silent for a moment. ”Where did you go when you left us? What happened?”  
Záhovar looked down. ”I succumbed to my own doubt. I despaired, believing that I would fail. The Nazgûl found me and showed me the truth.”  
Praktash looked up. ”What's the truth?”  
Záhovar smiled faintly. ”That failure is not an option.”  
”Well, _that's_ not ominous as all fuck.” Záhovar laughed softly at that and the sound soon drew some from him too. ”Skai, I wish I had some booze! This would be a perfect time to get drunk.”  
”There will be ample opportunities for you to do so once we reach Rhûn.”  
”Really?” His grin widened as Záhovar nodded.  
”I have heard some interesting tales about the Flower Bazaar. I think you might enjoy it.”  
”Graz think's we're not gonna make it there.”  
”'Graz' can be overly pessimistic at times,” Záhovar replied with a smirk.  
Praktash laughed. ”If I had booze I'd drink to that!” He gave her a calculating look and after a moment's hesitation, he got up and moved over to her side of the fire. After putting a few branches on it, he laid down behind her.  
”What are you doing?” Záhovar asked.  
”C'mon,” Praktash said and held his arms out towards her. ”Wanna snuggle.”  
”Are you not upset with me anymore?”  
”Nar, I just needed some time away. Y'know; to sort stuff out in my head. Bit like you did. Y'know I'll always come back to ya; I couldn't stand watchin' you pout.”  
”I do _not_ pout!”  
”Yes you are!”  
”I do not!”  
”Now you're doin' it.”  
”I most definitely do n-ohh!” She gasped as he caught her from behind and fell back down on the mattress with a snicker. After a brief struggle, they were spooning comfortably. For a long while, they simply lay together, watching the fire and listening to the distant sounds of screams and boisterous laughter.   
”Y'know what?” Praktash murmured.  
”Mhm?”  
”When we get to Rhûn, I wanna go to that 'bizarre' with ya. We'll go visit the alehouses, buy nice stuff, just hang out. Oohh, y'think they have a steam bath?”  
Záhovar smiled at his enthusiastic grin. ”If they do not, perhaps I shall have one built, _just_ for us!”  
”I _knew_ you were my kinda Officer!” Praktash chuckled.  
Her smile waned a little. ”I have yet to try those in Lugburz. And I fear there will be precious little time for pleasure outings in Rhûn.”  
”What're you gonna do there anyway?”  
”We found a map in Thaurband that may lead us where we want to go.”  
Praktash propped himself up on his elbow. ”A map? He left a _map?_ ”  
”Yes, and I believe-”  
”An' how did you not see that obvious trap? Who the fuck leaves a map to his hunters sayin' 'hello, here I am, come gut me'? This whole trip could be a complete waste o' time!”  
”I am aware of that! But we have nothing else; I must take this risk. Returning empty-handed is not an alternative. My orders are clear; to hunt him until I find him.”  
”Or die tryin',” Praktash added with a scowl. ”I bloody well hope you're right about this. Not lookin' forward to spendin' the rest of my life on the road.”  
”Me neither.”

They remained silent for a while, eyeing the fire. Kraash and Ghakû lay nearby; the former whimpered in his sleep.  
”Sshhh,” Záhovar hushed softly and amazingly, it seemed to calm him down.  
”He back under Compulsion?” Praktash asked.  
”No, he is free.”  
He sighed. ”I hate that part of ya.”  
”My using compulsion?”  
”Yeah...”  
”Believe me, if I was capable I would wipe all knowledge of it from this world.”  
Praktash gave her a surprised look. ”Really?”  
”Yes. I deem it too dangerous, too easy and tempting to abuse. In the wrong hands, or indeed only in too many hands it could tear this realm apart from within. I fear that it is not far from doing so already. Be at ease,” she said when she noticed Praktash's uneasy expression and placed a hand on his cheek. ”It has not happened yet. I cannot be sure that it _will_ happen; surely our Master would never permit it! He demands unity as much as loyalty from His subjects.”  
”I sure hope so,” Praktash murmured. ”Don't stop,” he added when she began to withdraw her hand. It soon returned and he twisted and tilted until he had positioned it at the nape of his neck. ”Right there... Claw me hard.” Záhovar obeyed and he let out a deep, thrumming purr as she scratched.  
”Ye're a real pet, Bukrazikh,” Margzat chuckled as he sat down by the fire.  
”Shut up,” Praktash purred. ”I'm busy bein' a pet. Thanks, master!” he chirped when Záhovar stopped.  
”My Lug-snaga is being cuddly tonight,” she commented as he wrapped himself around her.  
”Your Lug-snaga's being _happy_ tonight!” Graznikh exclaimed as he returned to camp, followed by the others. ”We found a village! Spotted the fires across the water further downstream where the river makes a bend. Now we can do a proper raid and fill up the stores!”  
”And who gave you permission to go on a killing spree?” Záhovar asked. ”No one.” Graznikh's face fell.  
”Oh, come _onnn,_ ” Sulmurz whined quietly. Draumaturz sighed.  
Záhovar and Praktash shared a near-identical smirk. ”Which is why I am giving it to you now; you have my permission to raze the village as soon as you are ready. But I recommend that you wait until tomorrow night; give them some time to wonder where their lost tribesmember went.”  
Spirits rapidly reached an all-time high as the Orcs and Uruks sat down to make up a strategy. Ghrazagh gave Margzat some very caustic remarks that normally would have made the krîtar very angry, but he understood that Ghrazagh was envious because he would not be able to join. Moreover, he would be the only Uruk left behind.  
”I figure I'm stayin' behind too,” Lîrnash said after a while. ”Arm's not what it used to be, an'... Yeah.”  
Margzat nodded. ”Good thinkin'. Don'tcha worry, we'll bring the spoils back here.”  
”What 'bout you?” Praktash asked Záhovar. ”You gonna join?”  
Záhovar shook her head. ”No, I shall remain as well.”  
”Why?” Graznikh asked. ”Every blade's good to have.”  
”I know it may not seem that way, but I am still drained from the spell I cast in the stronghold. Travelling has not allowed me to rest as much as I need to do; this will be a welcome respite.”  
Graznikh nodded. _That stunt musta taken more from her than I thought. Maybe she needs the bond'n my strength more than I need her._ He gave her and Praktash a warm look before returning to the planning circle. 

Once they were done, he returned. ”Is there room for one more?”  
Praktash and Záhovar nodded and moved to give him space. Graznikh snuggled down next to Záhovar with a contented purr. Sulmurz remained standing, looking lonely and forlorn.  
Graznikh held up an arm. ”You gonna stand there the rest o' the night? _I'm_ not gonna rut ya.” Sulmurz scowled and made no move to approach.  
"Y'know you want to," Praktash purred and was rewarded by a hostile snarl. ”Alright,” he said with an exasperated sigh. ”Look; master, you move out a little. Graz, come here. I spoon Graz, he spoons master or she lies on his shoulder. Sully, you spoon master or the other way around. 'Zat, you spoon me. C'mon!”  
After some shuffling, they settled down once more.  
”Skai buddy, you're smarter than you look!” Graznikh commented.  
”I know,” Praktash murmured sleepily. ”Wait, what's that supposed to mean?” Graznikh and Sulmurz only snickered.  
”Dun' let the snaga get to ya, Bukrazikh,” Margzat murmured and licked his ear.  
”Why would I? I'm in the perfect spot right now, never been happier!”  
”I can tell,” Graznikh muttered and rubbed his rear up against Praktash's hardening cock. Sulmurz shuddered in disgust and Praktash began to snicker.  
”Sleep, my snaga,” Záhovar told them with a smile. ”You have a long night ahead of you tomorrow.”  
  
  
The next evening, those well enough to go on the raid prepared to do so immediately after breakfast. Graznikh counted seven heads beside himself; Sulmurz, Praktash, Margzat, Golnauk, Urkhish, Draumaturz and Mikbork.  
”I'm not staying behind!!” Zosh squealed furiously.  
”Yes you are!” Graznikh growled. ”You're snaga, you don't know how to fight and the High Officer needs someone to look after her.”  
”I know how to fight!” Zosh protested. ”I took out three with my rocks back in the fight!”  
”You won't be sitting in a tree this time!”  
”I got your knives!”  
”What?” Graznikh frowned. ”Nar, you don't.”  
”Sure do.”  
Graznikh checked the places where he kept his throwing knives and realised that she was right; they were all missing. ”You pilfering little..!” He let out a frustrated snarl when he noticed that she was gone.  
”I can't stand it!” Praktash exclaimed and caught Urkhish's neck from behind. ”She's so _cute!!_ ”  
”Am not!” one of the saddle bags squeaked, followed by a muffled ”shit!”. Graznikh immediately pounced it and it did not take him long to drag a sulking Zosh out of it.  
”Snitch!” she told Praktash.  
”I didn't say anythin'!”  
”Nar, but ya made me say! 'S all your fault!” That made Praktash laugh out loud, and not even Urkhish's growl for him to 'gerroff' him managed to dampen his spirits. Once Graznikh had shaken all his knives out of Zosh's numerous pockets, he held her out to Záhovar who had been watching the debacle with amusement. ”Master? Will ya teach me that compulsion spell? Got a use for it right here.”  
”I doubt you have the aptitude for sorcery,” she replied.  
”Oh, I can be a quick learner when it comes to dealing with unruly snaga. Sulmurz!”  
”What?” Sulmurz said warily.  
”Go tie this bratty bitch to a tree and make sure she can't get loose afore we're well on our way.”  
”I can sniff ya out!” Zosh pointed out.  
”You can, but you will not,” Záhovar said. ”I have need of you here. Besides,” she added with a conspiratory smirk, ”you may find the task just as rewarding as going on a raid might be.”  
Zosh gave her a sceptical look, but she could not keep her own curiosity in check for long. In the end, Graznikh's band set out without her.

The village was a small one, only four little cottages and some storage huts. The Orcs and Uruks fell upon the defenseless shara like a wildfire, raping and killing at will.  
”Not much o' a fight,” Golnauk commented once it was over.  
”Nar, but good loot!” Graznikh replied as he peered into one of the storage huts. ”Sha, they musta been ready for the market or something!”  
Bags were rapidly filled with foodstuffs both common and foreign. The only things left behind were the vegetables and the grain, but Graznikh brought a few of the former in case Záhovar wanted variation. The villagers had little in the way of valuables, and the 'booze' turned out to be a real disappointment.  
”How can they drink this shit?!” Urkhish exclaimed. ”It's just brown water with some sweet shit in it!”  
”Tastes like that yellow stuff bees make their nests with,” Sulmurz said with a grimace. ”Skai, it stings my nostrils!”  
”Alright; that's _it!_ ” Praktash muttered and took one of the bags. Then he began to fill it with grain. ”Once I get my hands on some proper containers, I'mma make a new batch of ghâshpau. This just won't do!” The others cheered at the news.

Back in camp, they took the time to hold a brief feast before moving on.  
”Mmm,” Praktash hummed as he licked the soft cheese off his finger. ”This is good! Who knew shara could make stuff like this?”  
”Who couldn't?” Zosh replied with a shudder. ”It's bloody mouldy! 'N it smells like cock.”  
”Well I _do_ like cock,” Praktash replied and batted Draumaturz's hand away from his thigh. ”Hey, watch it! No need to get all friendly in the middle of dinner.”  
”I'm thinkin' I'll stick to ham myself,” Margzat chuckled as he sank his fangs into a hearty chunk of said foodstuff. He gave the cheese a wary look as he chewed. ”What's that stuff made of, anyway?”  
”Cow spunk,” Sulmurz said as though it was the most natural thing in the world.  
”Don't _say_ shit like that!” Praktash complained. ”I'm tryin' to eat here!”  
”He's right lad,” Ghakû said with a leer. ”Sorry to burst the bubble for ya.”  
Záhovar, who had placed a thin slice of cheese on a piece of bread and taken a dainty bite, froze in the middle of chewing.  
Praktash looked stricken. ”But... But it can't be! It doesn't taste like... I mean-”  
”What, you've tasted cow spunk?!” Draumaturz exclaimed. ”The fuck is wrong with ya?”  
”'Course I haven't!” Praktash snarled. ”But this can't be spunk; it's white!”  
”Oh, come now! Tark spunk's white, what's to say cow spunk isn't?”  
”But-”  
” _Actually,_ it's not regular spunk,” Sulmurz chimed in. Once he had everyone's attention, he continued. ”It's tit-spunk. Y'know; milk.”  
Most of the others stared at him blankly, but both Praktash and Graznikh began to look increasingly uncomfortable.  
”Right,” Sulmurz muttered. ”So the tarks take a cow... Or the shara, round-ears anyway; in any case, they knock her up with a bull, y'know the deal. After, when her teats're full, they squeeze 'em so the milk comes out. Bit like wankin', only teats instead o' cocks. So the milk ends up in a bucket, then they do some stuff to it. Don't ask me what that is, could be sorcery for all I know; whatever it is, the result is this; cheese. Then they leave it to mould in a cupboard. So basically, it's rotten cow tit-spunk.”  
Praktash stared at him in a kind of shocked petrification for a moment. Then he threw the cheese away, doubled over and began to gag and spit. Sulmurz watched his doings with satisfaction in every feature. Záhovar discreetly spat the piece she had been chewing out in her hand and washed her mouth with several mouthfuls of both water and the local liquor.   
Zosh stared at the cheese with a strange kind of awe in her eyes. ”That's _awesome,_ ” she breathed. ”I coulda _never_ come up with that one on my own!”  
”Don'tcha _dare_ try making that,” Mikbork growled at her. ”Ya wanna kill us all?”  
”Aww Mickey, y'know I'd never! This is for the contesticular-thingy.”  
Margzat arched an eyebrow. ”The _what?_ ”  
”Got a bit o' a bet running,” Ghakû explained. ”'Bout who's the best cook. Zosh claimed she's takin' the spot, but then Graznikh thought it's his by right-”  
”I did _what_ now?” Graznikh asked.  
”-and, well, ya know how it goes,” Ghakû continued with a lazy leer. ”Bets were up'n running afore we knew it.”  
Margzat gave him a suspicious, narrow-eyed glare.  
”Say,” Ghakû said thoughtfully. ”You're not a bad cook yerself, krîtar. Why don'tcha join?”  
”I'm a krîtar,” Margzat rumbled indifferently as he reached for another piece of ham. ”I don't join the rabble's petty contests.”  
”Then how 'bout judging the whole thing? If anyone knows good cooking among this lot, it'd be you.”  
 _Oh, that's just evil,_ Graznikh thought.   
Margzat gave Ghakû a haughty glance. ”I'll think 'bout it.”  
”We know this rabble's gonna fight it out with knives if someone doesn't set 'em straight from the start,” Ghakû said as if in passing. ”And... No offense, Lug-durbatar, but ye're not exactly the best one to judge the quality of Orcish cooking.”  
”I'll think about it,” Margzat repeated.  
  
  
Despite Graznikh's initial pessimism, the rest of the journey was peaceful. After two uneventful weeks, the travellers finally reached the river delta which emptied into a vast body of water that could only be the Sea of Rhûn. The crescent Moon hung just above the horizon.  
” _This_ is the Sea?” Praktash asked breathlessly as he stared at the empty, glittering surface. Then he shuddered. ”This shit's creepy.”  
Záhovar soon called for a halt for the day. After the tents were set up and dinner had been served, they gathered around the fire.  
”Did I ever tell ya 'bout the time I went bathing'n saw a sea dragon?” Graznikh asked with a lopsided grin as he sat down. ”They're not all they're made out to be.”  
”Did it have a big dick?” Zosh asked. Graznikh exploded with laughter from sheer surprise.  
”Why would you even ask something like that?!” Mikbork asked her incredulously.  
She gave him a dead serious look while pointing at Praktash. ”If it doesn't, I'd wager he wouldn't wanna hear 'bout it.”  
”Little snaga should be careful what they joke about,” Praktash said dangerously while punching the snickering Graznikh.  
”Wonderful,” Sulmurz drawled. ”He's gonna be the _butt_ of all the jokes tonight!”  
”Oh very funny, Sully! Real witty!”  
”I'm thinkin' 'at's somethin' I could get _behind_ ,” Margzat rumbled with a teasing grin.  
”So the sea-dragon _reared_ its ugly head-” Graznikh snickered, but had to stop because of Praktash's fists and his own laughing.  
”I thought we were buddies!!”  
”Alright, alright!” Graznikh shouted. ”Quit punching me, I'll tell ya something else!”  
”Somethin' _not_ about butts,” Praktash specified.  
”So the Hand, the Mouth and the Shadow betted on who could-”  
”Now you're bein' disrespectful!” Sulmurz snarled.  
”I haven't even told it yet!” Graznikh protested.  
”Doesn't matter,” Sulmurz growled. ”No High Officer jokes!”  
Záhovar was writing something in a small book, but now she arched an eyebrow without looking at them. ”There are jokes about High Officers?”  
”Err...” Both Orcs and Uruks fidgeted bervously, and Sulmurz looked like he would rather be anywhere else. ”Yeah... A few.”  
Záhovar glanced at him. ”Tell me one.”  
Sulmurz blushed. ”They're... not very flattering!” When Záhovar continued to look at him, he sighed and prepared to die. ”So, uhh... You've all heard 'bout the Lieutenant of Udûn, he's a mean tough bastard. But ya dunno how tough. The lieutenants of Udûn, Thaurband and Ruzh Moraut was havin' a contest about who could fart a cork the farthest. Moraut goes first, an' it ends up twenty feet off. Second's Thaurband, he farts it fifty feet. Then it's Udûn's time, an' it disappears. They search'n search but can't find it, so they give up. The next week, they hear news that the tark flagship has sunk after a cork hit it...”  
A few choked snickers could be heard. Záhovar kept looking at Sulmurz until the latter began to consider jumping into the flames to get away, but then a little giggle escaped her.  
Graznikh grinned wide. ”That was so _shitty!_ ”  
Sulmurz looked back and forth between them, then he grinned meekly. ”Stupid, yeah?”  
”I got an even worse,” Kraash muttered. He had not spoken a word to anyone since he was released from the compulsion spell, and now he effectively caught everyone's attention. ”The Black Hand and the master o' Blog Shakâmb walks down the road in Morgai. She needs to take a dump, so she squats down by the roadside. Suddenly he hears her shout 'I gave birth!'. 'Nar', he says, 'that's not possible'. 'Sure is, it's got arms'n legs'n all!'. So he goes to have a look, 'n says; 'nar, you just shat on a lizard'.”   
Margzat pinched the bridge of his nose with a groan as Praktash started sobbing with laughter against his shoulder.  
”This is horrible,” Záhovar said while trying not to lose control of her giggling.  
”Since we're all telling these shitty jokes, can I tell mine without getting punched now?” Graznikh asked.   
Záhovar made a 'be my guest' gesture. ”I admit to curiosity about the 'Shadow' you mentioned.”  
”Thanks,” he grinned. ”The Hand, the Mouth'n the Shadow made a bet on who could swim across the sea o' Nurnen. The Hand got fifty feet out, then he drowned. The Mouth got halfway before he drowned too. When the Shadow had ten feet left before she reached the other side, she said 'nar, I'm tired' and swam back.” Now Margzat laughed as well.  
”You're a downright loyal little snaga at times, buddy,” Praktash snickered.  
”I sure am,” Graznikh purred and leaned back against a rock. He glanced up at Záhovar. ”Wanna hear another?” He chuckled as she nodded. ”Sully, it's your time now! And make it good this time.”  
Sulmurz grumbled a little before he complied. Graznikh and Praktash shared a happy, contented look as the fire slowly died and the sun rose above the horizon and painted the waves in orange and pink. _But this time, this here place's not dead and dark..._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fluffy chapter! Cuddly, purring Uruks! Not just two spoons, but a whole box of them! And stupid jokes, because it wouldn't be the same without them.


	11. Howl For Me

The further north they got, the more settlements they came across. First there were mostly lone homesteads or hunter's cottages, but soon the wilderness broke up more and more into patches of well-tended forests surrounded by farmland and villages. The road was better too, and more crowded. Záhovar was riding again after Urkhish and Graznikh had modified the bridle so that it no longer came into contact with the horse's ruined snout. They all agreed that it looked rather intimidating with the High Officer riding a horse with a huge half-healed gash in its face.  
Margzat had the uzhâk line up in two rows with Mûrnaluzh alone up front, forcing people out of the way as they marched, and himself at the back, driving them on.  
”Can't have 'em think we're bloody snaga rabble, now can we?” he barked at the Uruks, deliberately ignoring the real 'snaga rabble' who kept making faces behind his back. Praktash repeatedly stumbled because he was too busy choking back laughter to watch out for holes in the road.   
”Keep trippin' an' I'll have ya run up front, Bukrazikh,” the krîtar said with a leer.  
”You wouldn't dare!” Praktash exclaimed with pretended outrage. ”My arse would never be the same after!”  
Urkhish exploded with laughter that got cut off as Margzat growled and tore into him with his whip. ” _Run_ , ya maggots, or I'll have Lîrnash fix yer supper tonight!”  
That threat made the Uruks speed up for real, and the smaller Orcs cursed as they tried to keep up.   
”Remind me to buy a new warg at th' next market,” Kraash panted and threw an envious glance at Mikbork and Zosh who were riding on one of the pack horses. Graznikh had given up his spot to them at Záhovar's request since they were in need of speed.  
”Lat throkzalam,” Akûl growled. The warg was trotting next to Graznikh with only a bit of a limp.  
”Like fuck I would,” Kraash replied.   
”Keep that up and you'll be snack at the next stop,” Ghakû remarked.  
”Gur sanut throkat zaur vrapogat,” Akûl barked and snapped his jaws towards Kraash, who jumped away and quickly fell back to the end of the line. The warg let out a wheezing laugh.  
  
The roads also grew increasingly crowded. Caravans, traders, riders both alone and in groups as well as people on foot all went well out of the way as the armed force marched past them. Horses snorted and reared in fear, dogs barked and Men gasped or even screamed.   
”What's wrong with 'em?” Praktash asked. ”They never seen an Uruk before?”  
”Perhaps not,” Záhovar replied. ”This realm may be under the Shadow, but they joined willingly long ago and have never faced the might of Lugburz in open war. Orcs are rare in these parts, even more so than in Enemy territory. Most of them are drawn to Lugburz proper.”  
”I woulda thought they'd be more welcoming,” Graznikh said. ”The Dunlendings didn't celebrate when we showed up, but they didn't shun us like this. 'Sides, I thought we were the 'chosen ones' or something like that. Didn't that Lion fellow say as much?”  
”You were in Enemy territory and faced a shared threat. There is no threat to share here, so these Men have no reason to band together with Orcs. As for Eälaion's words, those are the beliefs of his Temple and not a common sentiment among eastern Men. You will find that although the Rhûnlanders will not attack you on sight, they see you as little more than beasts. You may be the first Orcs to venture this far within the borders in many long years. We shall see if they allow us to go all the way to the capital.”  
”They start actin' up, I'll show 'em beasts,” Margzat growled.  
”I will _not_ have you start a political crisis by attacking prematurely,” Záhovar snapped. Margzat's eyes widened and he nodded quickly.   
Záhovar smiled, and a terrible, mirthless smile it was. ”Wait at least until the first insult has been thrown. _Then_ you may let the carnage begin.”  
”They'd really let that go?” Graznikh asked.  
”They have no choice. You are my escort; attacking you is attacking me. And attacking a High Officer is an act of rebellion that the Tower will not leave unpunished. The leaders of this realm know this well, from... past experience.”  
Golnauk grinned. ”I remember that one. Was one o' my first battles, an' one o' the first times us Uruks were sent out to show 'em rebels the might o' Lugburz. Good times!”  
”Didn't you just say they _hadn't_ seen Orcs before?” Sulmurz asked Záhovar.  
”'Not in open war', I said. Rebellion rarely warrants a full-scale invasion.”  
”So they _have_ seen Uruks before,” Praktash said. ”Only they saw all the bad sides.”  
”'At's right,” Margzat chuckled. ”So bend over an' show 'em our good side!”  
”You're bloody fascinated with my arse, aren'tcha?” The krîtar's intimidating leer made Praktash edge away a little.  
”Hey, quit pushing!” Urkhish snarled as they bumped shoulders. He gave Praktash a shove that nearly sent him crashing into Margzat. The krîtar grabbed the backstraps of his armour and tossed him back into the line.  
”Watch it!” Golnauk growled and Praktash barely managed to dodge the incoming elbow. Both Uruks growled louder and Golnauk tried to turn to face him, but the krîtar's whip cracked above their heads so close that Praktash could feel himself losing a few strands of hair.  
” _Break it up,_ ya bagronk rabble!! Got no bloody time for games on th' road!”  
”Nar, the games start once we stop,” Draumaturz snickered and ducked as the whip cracked over his head.  
”Are all Uruks like this?” Sulmurz complained.  
”Nar, this is all for your pleasure,” Praktash purred. Then he let out a squawk as Margzat slapped his rear hard. ”Fuck _off_ with you an' your bloody hands!!”  
”Keep runnin' yer mouth an' I'mma stuff it for real!”  
”Oh yeah? Then I'll _bite_ for real!”  
”You'll be wearin' this whip like a tail for the rest o' the trip!”  
”Says the guy who already has one!” While Margzat was busy laughing, Praktash spun and stole the whip right out of his hand. He ran the rawhide between his finger with an insane leer. ”G'won now, troll cock; up to the front of the line with ya!”  
The krîtar's growl was so deep it made the very air tremble. Praktash nearly peed himself as a huge fist closed around his neck and lifted him into the air; the whip slipped forgotten from his hand. He barely heard Margzat command the uzhâk to stop, but he could feel everyone's eyes burning into his back.  
  
Margzat did not choke him. There was no need to. He simply pulled him close with a confident leer, a bossy and overpowering Uruk commander from top to toe. Hot air enveloped Praktash's ear as he spoke into it.  
”Told ya I got no time for games... So long as you're in my uzhâk, ya don't break the line. Got that, Bukrazikh?”  
”I'm not...” Praktash began, but fell silent with widening eyes as the fist began to squeeze his neck. ”'Zat?”  
”Then make yer fuckin' choice an' stick with it!” Margzat growled. ”You run in the line or outta it; quit flickin' back'n forth like it's yer cock you're playin' with! Either way, quit disruptin' the line!!” With that, he opened his fist and dropped him. Praktash's legs almost gave out as he hit the ground and he staggered back several steps before he regained his balance.  
Praktash could barely understand what had just happened. Margzat had never pulled rank on him before, not like this. He always started laughing when Praktash began to think him serious, but he did not laugh now. He had stopped leering but did not seem angry; he simply stood there, watching as Praktash cleared his throat and spat. Praktash looked to Záhovar for support, but she made no sign of giving him any. Then he looked to Graznikh, who gave him an almost imperceptible nod. _Thanks, buddy.  
_ Margzat cocked his head a little as Praktash straightened up. ”So what'll it be?”  
Praktash shrugged. ”Fine. I'll stop.” He turned, picked up his dire mace which he had dropped when stealing the whip, hoisted it up on his shoulder and walked back to his place. Margzat stared after him with an astonished expression, and Praktash could not help but smirk a little at the sight. _You've got the worst cheater's face in the world, krîtar. Never play dice 'gainst Sully; he'd strip ya bare._ The thought of watching that happen and seeing Sulmurz's reaction as Margzat yanked his loincloth off and threw it in his face made him grin.   
Urkhish gave him a quizzical look. ”What's so bloody funny?”  
”Your face.”  
”You're one crazy cunt.”  
”Thanks Khishi-Khish, you're such a sweet-talker!”  
Lîrnash doubled over and started snorting and grunting like a pig.  
”What the fuck's he doin'?” Praktash snickered.  
”I _think_ he's laughing,” Ghrazagh chuckled from his place in the travois.  
”It wasn't a compliment,” Urkhish growled.  
”That's just 'cause you don't understand cunts,” Praktash replied.  
”And you do?!”  
”Oh yeah, far better than you. An' I'd much rather be a cunt than a pair of balls.”  
”Why?” Ghrazagh asked.  
”'Cause balls're _sensitive,_ ” Praktash explained with a demented grin. ”You gotta be gentle with 'em. Same with arses, really; no lube means a world of pain for the owner of the arse. Cunts, on the other hand, they can take a _poundin'_!”  
Lîrnash suddenly fell over. Praktash quickly squatted beside him, thinking that he might be ill, but he only wheezed ”Khishi-Khish” and begun to laugh again.  
”I'm gonna kill ya for this,” Urkhish growled.  
Margzat gave Záhovar an apologetic look before setting the uzhâk moving. Záhovar's only reply was a smirk and a dismissive little hand gesture.  
  
  
Praktash was more than happy when they stopped for the night on the outskirts of another park-like forest. He badly needed to pee and had been holding it in for the last half a toll. The moment Margzat let them break the line, he hurried up to a tree some distance from camp, yanked his loincloth aside, leaned his head back with a contented sigh and enjoyed the soft breeze. The night had been unusually hot and he didn't need to sniff himself to know that he reeked of sweat, as did all the others. The run had been unpleasant in more ways than one. Something brushed his left shoulder and at first he thought it was Margzat, but when he opened his eyes he saw Urkhish.  
”You gonna kill me while I'm takin' a piss? That's low!”  
”Don't read anything into it,” Urkhish muttered while following Praktash's example.  
”Don't mind him,” Draumaturz said with a grin as he stopped on Praktash's right side. ”Khishi-Khish's been a bit grumpy lately. No idea why.”  
”Will you shut up with that?! I'm beginning to regret ever signin' up for this trip!”  
”Yeah, like you had a choice,” Praktash grinned. ”Khishi-Khish.”  
Urkhish growled as Draumaturz began to laugh.  
”That was the best shit I've heard since our drartul got a rabbit's backbone lodged in his throat and twittered like a bird right up 'til he died,” Draumaturz chuckled.  
”Nobody tried to take it out?” Praktash snickered.  
”Yeah, but we couldn't reach it. And we were all laughin' too hard. The guy was a bastard anyway, nobody liked him.”   
Praktash chuckled at that. ”Nobody likes their drartul, doesn't matter who it is.”  
”Says the krîtar's favourite,” Urkhish commented. ”You done wavin' that thing around?”  
”Airdryin',” Praktash replied with a seductive leer. ”It's good for ya.”  
”Well, I've got a better way,” Draumaturz purred in his ear. He shoved him hard into Urkhish, who spun him around and shoved him back. When Draumaturz shoved him a third time, he fell backwards into Urkhish's arms. Draumaturz sank to his knees and took Praktash's limp cock in his mouth. Praktash pulled his hips back, used Urkhish's grip on his arms as leverage and kicked Draumaturz hard in the chest. Then he walked backwards, throwing Urkhish off balance, and shoved him into the tree. Once he was free of Urkhish's hold, he pounced Draumaturz who immediately rolled over to shake him loose. The struggle went on for quite some time until all three Uruks lay panting and gasping on the ground.  
”Skai, where'd you learn to do that?” Urkhish asked.  
”Lugburz,” Praktash replied. ”Lived on the streets for years. An' I took some lessons from Graz when we hung out.”  
”How good is he, really?” Draumaturz asked. ”I've heard stuff.”  
”I've _seen_ stuff,” Urkhish replied. ”He took out our krîtar like nothin'.”  
”Let's just say I've never bested him,” Praktash said. ”I've watched him an' our master spar too; they're almost even.”  
Draumaturz and Urkhish stared.  
”You're joking!” Draumaturz exclaimed.  
”Nar, I'm not.”  
”But... Why would Lug-durbatar spar with a snaga?!”  
”Why not? Even Top Ones need to keep their moves fresh.”  
”But they don't have to!” Urkhish said. ”That's Uruks' work!”  
Praktash rolled his eyes. ”Don't be so daft! She can't walk around with an Uruk meat-shield 'round her all the time. That's not how she does things! Yes, she's a Top One an' as close to the Top as they get, but she still likes to be in the thick of things an' get her hands dirty.” He chuckled as he noticed Draumaturz's struggle to keep the leer off his face. ”Pervert.”  
”Couldn't help it,” Draumaturz muttered.  
”I didn't say you were wrong,” Praktash snickered. ”She _does_ like it that way, too.”  
”With you maybe,” Urkhish said sceptically.  
Praktash laughed at that. ”Do I look like that kinda guy?”  
”But ya did _something,_ ” Draumaturz insisted. ”Back in... Before the...”  
”Aye, I flicked my tongue in places where she likes it.”  
”Tongue? Why tongue?”  
”'Cause that's what she wants from me.”  
”...I don't get it.”  
”That's why I'm Lug-snaga an' you're not.”  
”Oh yeah?”  
”Oh aye.”  
”Maybe I know how to use my tongue too.”  
”An' how many plashnaks've you licked?”  
”Well, no plashnaks...”  
”Then what _have_ you licked?”

Urkhish suddenly noticed Margzat approaching and alerted the others with light punches. ”Looks like we'll finish it another time.”  
”Tryin' to steal my Bukrazikh, are ya?” Margzat asked with a sneer as he stopped over them.  
”Just warming up,” Draumaturz replied as he got up.   
”For what?” Margzat asked. Draumaturz only shrugged and muttered something unintelligible with a glance at Urkhish, who kept his eyes fixed on the ground.  
”Beat it,” Margzat barked. ”Both o' ya.” All three Uruks began to walk away. ”Nar, not Bukrazikh.”  
Praktash rolled his eyes and turned back. ”I've a name, y'know.”  
”Sure ya do,” Margzat murmured with a leer as he walked closer. ”Bukrazikh.”  
Praktash sighed. ”'Zat, I'm not-” He was interrupted as Margzat shoved him in the chest. Praktash was not at all prepared for the assault and fell backwards with a loud grunt. As he lay there gasping for air, Margzat knelt over him and began to reach for his loincloth with a deep purr. Praktash kicked him in the face; Margzat twitched hard and rubbed his broken lip. When he saw the blood, he gave him an incredulous glare. ”Why?!”  
”What...” Praktash breathed as he got up, ”is... _WRONG WITH YOU??_ ” He threw Margzat a baleful look. ”First you're fine with everythin'. Then, outta the light, you get all jelly on Drauma. Then you flip, pass me around like a bloody opa-snaga an' share me with the whole uzhâk! An' now you've gone all possessive again, what the fuck is wrong with you?! You tell _me_ to make up my mind when you flip faster than an Eye banner in a Gorgoroth storm!”  
”Was thinkin' ya were fuckin' _me,_ not everyone _but_ me,” Margzat growled back. ”Or did that stunt Graznikh pulled put ya off me for good?”  
”Really?” Praktash snorted. ” _Really,_ 'Zat? You really believe that yourself? Graz's 'stunt' saved our bloody lives! _Your_ stunt woulda killed us. That obviously makes a difference for me, but not for whether I wanna fuck ya or not.”  
”So why d'ya keep walkin' away?”  
”'Cause you're bein' a grumpy fuckin' taskmaster! I'm not your snaga, an' I'll never will be! If you wanna fuck me, then prove it! An' not by scarin' all others away an' tryin' to claim me for yourself, I don't fancy that shit at all.” Praktash turned his back to the still kneeling krîtar to prove his point.  
”So 'at's all, then?” Margzat quietly asked.  
”All what?”  
”'S just me fuckin' ya? There's no... Ya don't... wanna fuck me back?”  
Praktash rolled his eyes so hard that it felt like they were going to stick to the back of his skull. ”'Course I do, krîtar.” He put on his most sultry leer as he squatted before him and ran a blunt claw up the inside of his thigh; this elicited a little purr from Margzat and he gave him a hungry look.   
”Sure I wanna fuck ya,” Praktash continued, ”you're a good fuck. But I've never been a one-cock-Uruk, I need variation! Fuckin' others remind me of how much better _your_ cock feels, it makes me wanna fuck ya all the more.”  
Margzat frowned. ”Fuckin' others makes ya wanna fuck _me_ more? How's 'at even makin' sense?”  
”It makes _my_ kinda sense,” Praktash replied with a mischievous grin. Margzat looked at him as if he had only now understood what kind of madness he had gotten himself involved with, but then his face cracked up in a wide grin.  
”Ye're a special kind o' queer bugger, Bukrazikh!”  
”That's me alright,” Praktash chuckled. ”An' you fancy every bit of it, don'tcha?” Margzat responded by pulling him close with a deep growl.  
”Nar,” Praktash said as he began to reach for his loincloth again. ”Not like that. You're right; I've been neglectin' ya. Shouldn'ta let my krîtar wait this long, so I'm gonna make it up to ya. My krîtar's gonna get the special treatment tonight.”  
Margzat resisted as Praktash tried to push him down. ”I don't just wanna spunk'n be done with it.”  
”Who says you're gonna do that?” Praktash asked with a wicked leer. ”I told ya; you're gonna get the _special_ treatment...” Margzat still resisted, so he snapped his fangs in his face. Margzat responded instinctively by snapping back and Praktash caught his fangs in his own. After a bit of kissing and fondling, Margzat finally let himself be maneuvered down and was soon half-sitting with his back against a fallen log.  
”You comfy? Good,” Praktash purred as Margzat nodded. ”This is gonna take a while...”  
  
Margzat could not wrap his head around it. How could this little redhead annihilate him so completely? He could think things through for a whole night's march, carefully choose the right words to say, but then one look into those poison-green eyes melted all coherence from his brain; a single leer made his knees weak and his heart race. It was unnatural through and through, and yet he only wanted more and more of it. Now, as his 'Clawless' teased and pleased his way down his body with seductive growls and sultry glances and made him lightheaded and dizzy with need, Margzat felt himself enter free fall all over again. _Ye're gonna destroy me, Bukrazikh. If 'at transfer's not approved an' I get sent someplece else... I'm not sure I'll survive the partin'._  
He tensed briefly as Praktash's lips began to nibble his foreskin. He did not rush things this time, but advanced and retreated until his krîtar was beside himself. As he poised his lips to take the krîtar's cock in his mouth, Margzat lifted his head to watch it happen with a tense, vicious, eager expression, fangs bared and slaver dribbling freely down his chin.

Margzat was soon writhing beneath him. Praktash supported himself with his lower arms on the krîtar's hips to keep him from going too deep, too fast as he unconsciously bucked and undulated. A deep, desperate groan told him that he was fast approaching the peak and he slowed down a little. The fingers of one large hand were buried in the ground next to him; the other gripped the log against which his head was supported, fingers spasmically driving his thick claws deeper and deeper into the wood. Praktash pushed down until his lips were flush with Margzat's pelvis and swallowed rapidly; moments later, Margzat came with a thundering roar and tore a large chunk of wood out of the log.  
Praktash withdrew from the krîtar's cock with a purring little chuckle. It took him a moment to register that Margzat was not gasping from pleasure, but from pain.  
”'Zat? What's wrong?”  
Margzat only groaned in reply, jaws tense and nostrils flaring. He clutched the hand that had torn the wood in a vice-like grip, black blood trickling between his fingers.  
”'Zat!!” Praktash was up and beside him in an instant. As he pried Margzat's fingers apart, he found that the tip of the index finger on his right hand bled profusely.  
”I'm thinkin' I'll be a 'bukrazikh' too from now on,” Margzat murmured through gripped teeth and let out a strained laugh.  
”Oh 'Zat..!” Praktash began to laugh. ”You really gave me a scare there! Hold on, I've got bandages.” He washed the krîtar's torn fingertip with some water from his drinking skin and placed a little linen pad on top of the wound before wrapping it up neatly with grey, unbleached linen strips. Margzat gave his finger a lopsided little grin. Then he turned and began to search for something on the ground. It did not take him long; soon he returned and held up the piece of wood where his claw was still lodged.  
”Skai, it tore out with roots'n all,” Praktash said as he took a closer look.  
”Mmhm,” Margzat rumbled. He took hold of the claw with his good hand and yanked it loose. Then he looked at it for a while before holding it out towards Praktash.  
Praktash frowned. ”It's a little too late to put it back.”  
”Take it anyway,” Margzat said. ”'S not like I've any use for it, an'... Hm.”  
”An'..?”   
Margzat shrugged and looked away. ”I'm thinkin' I'd like for ya to have it. Keep it close... 'At way I'm still with ya, a small part o' me at least.”  
Praktash looked at him with an unreadable expression for a while. Then he took the claw and placed it in his belt pocket with a barely suppressed grin. Margzat happily bared a fang when he noticed his pupils growing larger.  
”Bit of a mood killer though, isn't it?” Praktash said with a nod towards Margzat's hand.  
Margzat grinned. ”This? Nar, it'll take more to put me off ya.”   
”Now you're bein' cute,” Praktash complained.  
”An' you like it.”  
”Had enough of my mouth yet?”  
”How're ya not sore in there?”  
”Practice,” Praktash drawled. Margzat laughed as he leaned back down. ”An' no more wood-tearin' now!”  
”Promise,” came the purring reply.  
  
Afterwards, Margzat lay on the ground with closed eyes, feeling completely exhausted but more content that he had felt for quite some time. Praktash lay on his belly beside him; lacking suitable claws of his own, he was using one of the krîtar's fingers to pick his teeth.  
”Y'know what?” he asked once Margzat's breathing slowed down.  
”Mmh?” Margzat replied.  
”I wasn't gonna fuck 'em. 'Khish an' Drauma.”  
Margzat opened an eye. ”Nar? What was all 'at snugglin' about, then?”  
”Pack-bondin'.”  
Margzat opened his other eye and glanced at him. ”So ye're gonna be one o' the pack now? Made up yer mind?”  
”Sometimes.”  
”Wh... Ya can't be a part o' the pack 'sometimes'!”  
”Sure can. Works just fine for me.”  
Margzat's sigh was like a hurricane in Praktash's ear. ”Bloody butterfly.”  
Praktash tensed up. ”Where?”  
”You,” Margzat chuckled.  
Praktash gave him a blank look. ”How the fuck'm I anythin' like a butterfly?”  
”How're ya not? Ye're pretty an' colourful, flutter back an' forth, chase folks down an' suck 'em dry every once in a while.” They shared a look and then began to laugh at the same time.  
”YES!!!” Praktash bellowed and Margzat rubbed his suddenly aching ear. ”That's gonna be my next tattoo; a huge fuckin' _butterfly_ across my chest!!” Then he grew thoughtful. ”Or... maybe I should make it a smaller one, right here.” He rolled over and ran a finger across the area just above his pubic bone. ”Then it'd be our little secret.”  
”Ours'n everyone else ya fuck,” Margzat murmured and grunted as Praktash poked him hard in the side.   
”They wouldn't know what it means!”  
”They wouldn't get the big one either. I'm thinkin' I'd kinda like 'at. Bukrafly.”  
Praktash growled in reply and snapped his fangs. The wind suddenly changed and he sniffed the air with a frown. ”D'you smell food?”  
  
Back in camp, they found Golnauk and Ghakû in charge of the night's cooking operation. Margzat refrained from commenting on the results, but everyone ate with great appetite except Záhovar, who could not stomach the badly cooked meat and resorted to what they had scavenged in the riverland village.  
”You're _not_ eating that!” Graznikh snarled when he saw her pick up a cheese.  
”And who are you to tell me what to do?” Záhovar asked coldly.  
”I'm your bodyguard! And _this,_ ” he held up the cheese, ”is bloody poison!” He threw it over his shoulder and continued digging around in the bag. ”And this. And this. Skai, who kept all this shit?”  
Zosh gave him a disappointed look. ”I saved that!”  
”Then _you_ carry it! I won't let this shit get mixed up with the real food. There,” he said once he was done. ”That's proper food.”  
Záhovar gave the meagre collection of dried fish and hard bread a forlorn look. ”Am I to sustain myself on _this?_ ”  
”Well, if the Uruks hadn't choked down all the ham there woulda been that too.”  
”Ya never told us not to,” Margzat pointed out.  
Graznikh glared at him. ”You're the krîtar.”  
”An' ye're the chief.”   
Záhovar arched an eyebrow at that and both Sulmurz and Ghakû turned to stare at Graznikh in disbelief.  
”What?” Margzat asked with a lopsided grin. ”Already forgot 'bout it? Ya beat me, took the leadership fair'n square an' by the Eye I'll make ya shoulder it too!”  
”You're gonna make me regret every single desicion I ever made that led up to this point, aren'tcha?” Graznikh growled. Margzat only grinned a little wider and bared a thick fang.  
”Don't worry, buddy,” Praktash said. ”I'll back ya.”  
”That's not fair,” Margzat rumbled.  
”Sure is,” Praktash protested mildly. ”If he sits on my shoulders, he might just reach taller than you. That way you don't hafta look down on your new chief.”  
”He beat the krîtar? And I missed it!!” Mikbork looked like he was about to cry and Zosh patted his shoulder in a gesture that could have been taken for sympathy had her attempt to steal his food not been so obvious.  
”This band is so fucked up,” Sulmurz muttered as the snufflers began to fight.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short little chapter, and the last one I'm posting for a while since I have no more finished ones. Praktash will give up the spotlight a little from now on, because next stop is Rhûn!


	12. Eastward Bound

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little note about languages: whenever something appears within angle brackets, it's spoken in a language other than Westron/Common and any Orcs present will not understand what is said. In this and the following chapter(s), that language is Rhûnish. There will be others further on, but there will be a similar note up here when they are introduced.

One misty morning, Mikbork returned from scouting ahead with news of a strange sight.  
”'S a bit like Thaurband,” he reported, ”lotsa torches'n stuff, but bigger. Way, _waaay_ bigger.”  
”Then the first step of our journey is soon at its end,” Záhovar said. ”We have reached the city-state of Rhûnakhôr.”  
”I think we should do some scouting afore we enter,” Graznikh suggested. ”I don't like going into an unfamiliar stronghold without knowing the terrain.”  
”This is no stronghold, but a fortified city,” Záhovar argued, ”larger than Khand. It would take you many nights to make yourself familiar with its layout. No, we march on.”  
”Aye, 'cause I have so many good memories from Khand,” Graznikh growled.  
Záhovar eyed him for a moment before she sighed and turned her horse to adress the whole group. ”Rhûn is a city-state governed by two branches of authority; the priesthood and the khagan's court. I have been informed that the khagan is currently on top of things, but that may rapidly change, so keep your wits about you as we enter the city. Our primary objective is to reach the khagan's palace in the temple district; this is where our quarters lie. Once there, you will be given new orders and your code of conduct.”  
The Uruks saluted and Záhovar gave the order to march anew. Soon they saw the torches at the gate, haloed in the mist. The road became paved with large, hexagonal basalt tiles that made the Uruks' heavy boots sound all the more impressive. The Orcs gathered in a more fluid formation around the High Officer's horse and Akûl prowled alongside the pack horses, eyes and ears alert for anyone foolish enough to stray too close. A few men and women peered out of the ragged huts to watch them warily, but for the most part the roadside was empty.  
  
The outskirts of the city were more akin to a slum, with a myriad of narrow alleys and one- or two-story houses that looked like they were held together more by pure stubbornness than by the nails and ropes that pierced and surrounded them. The main thoroughfare was kept open and the remnants of torn-down shacks lay in piles on each side of the road, picked through by twolegged scavengers for building materials.  
”This reminds me of Dunland,” Graznikh said as he eyed the buildings. ”Only bigger, and the houses there were better kept.”  
”This is a wealthy city,” Záhovar said, ”and wealth always attracts leeches. They stay out here because they are not allowed inside the walls.”  
”Walls?” Graznikh looked in the direction Záhovar nodded, and then he saw it. The wall was nowhere near as tall as those surrounding Lugburz or Blog Shakâmb, but was still tall enough to give pause to invaders, with triangular towers spaced out along its reach. Graznikh thought he could see some kind of machinery at the top of each tower.  
”Isn't that the same kinda brick as the buildings in Thaurband?” Sulmurz asked.  
”It is,” Záhovar replied. ”This wall was a gift from Lugburz, built as a token of good faith and a symbol of the protection the city would enjoy when it bowed before the might of the Tower.”  
While the wall was not much to behold, the gate was. Three giant slabs of basalt were fitted into the brick; one on each side of the entrance and one above it, covered with carved Maushur runes and inlaid with the great Eye in red. The darkened oak gates were covered with spiked bands of bronze and studs of blackened iron; an intimidating sight. The gates were open and the guards in their red, flowing uniforms and brass scale armour contrasted with the black and red of the wall. They began to swarm around the gate as they spotted the High Officer's party and Graznikh discreetly checked the placement of his throwing knives. The Uruks tensed up as well but a word from Záhovar made Margzat bark an order for them to stand down.  
  
Záhovar commanded a halt some distance from the gate and then beckoned for Graznikh to accompany her as she let her horse trot up to the open gate. A man who Graznikh suspected was the gate captain said something in a foreign tongue and gave them a flourishing bow which Záhovar did not return. She did return the greeting, if greeting it was, and said a few more words that the man responded to with even more bows and a few shouted commands into the gate house. Soon a small squad of guards had appeared and formed up in a similar formation as the Uruks.  
”Funny hats,” Mikbork snickered.  
”I wonder if they see anythin' with those scarves wrapped around their heads like that?” Praktash mused.  
”Do 'at dance ya did back in Thaurband an' we'll find out,” Margzat commented. He grabbed Praktash's hair as the healer began to step out of the line and yanked him back.  
”Aww, but 'Zaaaat!” Praktash protested.  
”I wasn't serious, ya little spunk!” Margzat chuckled. ”Now get back in line!”  
”Always with the lines,” Praktash complained but returned to his place without further flailing.  
Záhovar sent Graznikh back to the uzhâk with the order to move, and the two companies marched side by side into the city. Graznikh eyed the surroundings as they marched. He could not see far in the thick mist, but judging by the torches that dotted the sky, the city covered a hill, or more than one. _This place is huge! ...I wonder if they've got any good booze here?  
_ Apparently, there was no main street. The gate captain led them back and forth and Graznikh soon lost track of where they were. He was about to warn Záhovar that he smelled something rotten about the whole deal when the mists suddenly parted and another large gate came into view. This one was made of a black, oily-looking wood that was covered with large hammered sheets of bronze, also decorated with Maushur runes.  
”Wonder what it says,” Sulmurz said quietly.  
”It is a hymn to the True Master of the world,” Záhovar explained. ”This is one of the three gates to the temple district.”  
”Oh.”  
”How many does the outer wall have?” Graznikh asked.  
”Nine.”  
”Nine, three, one... I'm beginning to see a pattern here.” Záhovar's only reply was an enigmatic smile.  
As they passed the inner gate, Sulmurz suddenly jumped up with a squeak and elbowed Záhovar off her horse. Then he screamed as the crossbow bolt that had been meant for her went through his arm and pinned it to his chest. Graznikh dodged just in time to avoid a second bolt, which hit Margzat's shield instead.  
”Snipers!” the krîtar bellowed and the Uruks immediately formed a living shield around the Officer; Praktash grabbed Sulmurz and dragged him to safety within it. Most of their Mannish escort dispersed to hunt the attackers down; the commander stayed behind with a few others, eyeing the surrounding buildings nervously.  
”You okay?” Graznikh asked Záhovar as he helped her up.  
”I am,” she replied. Praktash straddled Sulmurz to keep him still and ignored his roar of pain as he broke the bolt off and pulled it out, using his fingers to guide the tip through his flesh in case there were barbs.  
”Will you stop fightin'? I'm not tryin' to fuck ya!”  
”Never know, ya sick fuck,” Sulmurz growled back through gritted teeth.  
”Whatever. Now hold still, I gotta stop the bleedin'.” He took a roll of bandages from his bag and tore two pieces off. He folded them and pressed them against the wound, then held them in place with one hand while tying a third strip tight around Sulmurz's arm. He finished it off by wrapping a few layers of bandage, then did the same with his chest.  
”There. Keep the arm still; use the other one if you need to fight.”  
Sulmurz shrugged and tried to rise, but Praktash grabbed his shirt and pushed him back down with a leer. ”An' whaddya say?”  
”Pretty please and thank you?” Sulmurz snapped and spat in his face. ”Fuck off, I'm not gonna pay ya for doing yer bloody job!”  
”That's _exactly_ what you're gonna do,” Praktash purred in his ear and rubbed his crotch against his hip. The collar around his neck grew cold and he reluctantly backed off. ”Just messin' with ya, little guy.”  
Sulmurz snarled as he got up. Praktash offered him a helping hand but he only clawed it and once he was safely next to Záhovar, he shot the Uruk a baleful sneer. Graznikh growled a warning and he looked away, but the hateful look in his eyes did not disappear entirely.  
_Wonderful,_ Graznikh thought. _Now I hafta keep an eye on those two as well.  
_  
The guards eventually returned and informed their captain that the enemy had eluded them.  
” <This is ridiculous!>” Záhovar spat in Rhûnish. ”<If the soldiers of this city are so incompetent as to lose an enemy on their home turf, I shall have to take this into my own hands and send my Orcs in search for the culprits.>”  
”<No offense meant, my lord, but this is a matter of domestic security,>” the captain said.  
Záhovar turned to Margzat. ”Krîtar; seize this man!”  
Margzat grabbed the captain by the neck before any of his men could interfere. Two hard kicks had him down on his knees and a clawed hand in his hair bent his head back, exposing his throat.  
”<Attacking a High Officer is a matter of the Tower, _not_ a domestic affair, >” Záhovar hissed in his face. ”<The insolence of even suggesting otherwise is enough to grant you a slow death! Be grateful for my mercy, for I will not have my followers tear you apart here and now. Instead, you will accompany me to the court where you will explain your transgressions to the khagan!>” She turned to the guards. ”<Your competence is clearly limited to dealing with unruly traders and beggars. Return to the gate; I shall trust in the might of Lugburz's elite soldiers. Perhaps you will receive a new commander come morning, perhaps not. Now march!>”  
The guards saluted curtly and marched off.  
”Nice formation,” Graznikh chuckled. ”Must've worked on that one a lot.”  
”Too big a lot,” Ghrazagh sneered. ”Too much show-off, not enough seasonin'.” Several of the other Uruks nodded or growled in agreement. Margzat handed the guard captain over to Draumaturz and Mûrnaluzh while Urkhish went off to catch Záhovar's horse, then they formed up and continued. The inner city was distinctly different from the outer; here, most buildings were built with black or dark grey granite and the layout was far more symmetrical. But what stood out were the many temples.  
”That is the temple of the Nine,” Záhovar explained while pointing at a building reminiscent of a crown with nine narrow towers. ”The smaller building over there is the temple of the God-King, the large one here is the temple of the Great Eye.”  
”An' the tower over there?” Praktash asked and pointed at what looked like a steep pyramid.  
”The temple of the One. It is the oldest temple here, and dedicated to the True Master.”  
”So the Lion's group has a temple here too? Think we'll meet him?”  
”Possibly. He did not tell me where he was headed next.”  
”So all of these are religious cults?” Sulmurz asked. ”Tarks're bloody crazy.”  
”These cults were not founded by tarks,” Záhovar said. ”Some were founded long before the tark realm even existed. I do not know exactly when the foundation was laid for the Temple of the One, but it was during the time when the True Master still ruled.”

Eventually the boulevard ended in a large, hexagonal plaza with a giant black statue in the middle. On the opposite side lay the Temple of the One with the khagan's palace to its left. The palace looked humble in comparison; despite its size, it was dwarfed by the immense black temple.  
”What's that?” Praktash asked, staring at the statue in astonishment.  
” _That_ is a ghâshgoth,” Záhovar murmured. ”Or the image of one, at any rate. I am told that the real ones were far larger.”  
”Whazza ghâshgoth?” Zosh asked.  
”Long ago, our Master was merely a part of a greater whole, just like we are parts of the greater whole that is Lugburz. Our Master was and is the Great Eye. These,” she gestured towards the statue, ”were the fists.”  
”Nice touch with the fires,” Praktash commented. The statue did indeed burn; along the neck, arms and each wing were hidden vessels filled with rock oil that burned as it seeped out.  
”The true ghâshgoths did burn,” Záhovar explained. ”The Flame Imperishable that lends warmth and life to all living things burned too bright in them, setting their very flesh on fire.”  
Outside the khagan's palace, Záhovar stopped. ”Remain here while I speak to the court.”  
”We're just gonna sit here?”  
”You will have shelter from the Sun soon enough. This is a mere formality; the east wing is at the disposal of Lugburz and its High Officers.” She turned to Margzat. ”One Uruk will accompany me and guard the guard. Decide which one.”  
Margzat nodded and eyed the uzhâk. ”Draumaturz.”  
Graznikh nodded discreetly. Draumaturz was a decent fighter, level-headed and solid. He may not have size on his side but could be intimidating, and so far he had never acted out of order. If Graznikh was to pick any Uruk other than Praktash or Margzat to guard Záhovar, he would have chosen Draumaturz. Margzat had obviously noticed his nod and figured his mind out for he returned it with a lopsided grin.  
”Graznikh?” Graznikh looked up as he heard his name mentioned. Záhovar nodded for him to follow.  
”I wanna go too,” Praktash murmured.  
”You are of better use here,” Záhovar told him. ”Tend to the wounded. Soon, you will have whatever supplies you need and ample time to explore, should you wish to do so.”  
”Ye're not gonna leave me here with that one, are ya?” Sulmurz complained.  
”I'll keep him in check,” Margzat rumbled. ”Quit yer whinin', snaga.”  
  
  
The khagan's palace was built with the same black brick as the wall, but it both looked and was far older. The front gate was the same material as the gate to the temple district, ebony with large inlays of bronze, intricately decorated and polished to an almost mirrorlike sheen. The guards here opened the gate without question as Záhovar approached. The short entrance hall led to a large, well-tended garden with roofed galleries on each side. A wide mosaic path led to a flight of stairs in the far end that in turn led up to the great debate hall where the khagan assembled.  
”Remain silent,” Záhovar told Graznikh and Draumaturz as she walked. ”If someone questions you, you will speak _only_ if I permit it.”  
”Got it,” Graznikh replied.  
”Won't get what they're saying anyway,” Draumaturz added.  
”You may,” Záhovar said. ”They will most probably speak the Common Tongue when I am present.”  
A courtier approached as they reached the top of the stairs. ”Your Eminent Ladyship. I'm afraid the khagan has not been informed of your coming, and only a few are yet assembled.”  
”It matters little,” Záhovar replied. ”My approaching the khagan is merely a formality; I shall make an official appearance later.” The courtier nodded respectfully and showed her the way.  
The debate hall was similar to the garden, but smaller and the roof covered the entire hall instead of just the galleries. Some twenty men and women stood or sat on the benches along the walls and listened to a man who paced the deep-set floor in the center of the room as he spoke. At the far wall was a small throne where a large woman in heavy robes sat.  
Záhovar stopped at the edge of the nearest gallery after entering, but quietly told Draumaturz to remain near the door with the gate captain until she beckoned for him. In truth, there was no need for her to wait; by right she could claim the floor whenever she wished. But she had no wish to make enemies of the khagan's court which she had never before visited, and basic courtesy could go a long way towards winning the more progressive of the lot.  
The woman on the throne perked up as she spotted her and there were a few gasps and alarmed glances at the Orcs. The man on the floor continued speaking, unaware of the new addition to his audience. Once he noticed them, he paled and took a step back, frozen in place briefly before turning to the throne for guidance. The woman gestured for him to step aside and said a few words in the native tongue. Then she adressed Záhovar.  
”Greetings, your Elevated Ladyship. Our apologies for the lack of reception; the notification of your arrival never reached us.”  
”No offense has been taken,” Záhovar replied as she stepped forward, ”for no notification was sent. The Great Eye looks upon you favourably and my purpose here intends no involvement with your government.”  
”Is that so?” a new voice called. Záhovar glanced at the speaker, a tall middle-aged man with dark hair cut at his shoulders. Below the robe that indicated a member of the khagan he wore a distinct armour and his voice was clear and strong as he spoke. Graznikh began to growl; this one was tark through and through.

The man gave Záhovar a distasteful look. ”Keep your pets in check. Bloodshed is forbidden in these sacred halls.”  
”As is interrupting the one currently claiming the floor,” Záhovar retorted.  
”In which case you have already broken our laws.”  
”And is one transgression the signal of anarchy? Have you so little self-control that you lose all sense of civility at the mere sight of it?”  
The man smirked. ”I will not stoop to petty insult.” He turned to adress the audience. ”No involvement, she says. Does the servants of Mordor not always come with ulterior purpose? Where lies the realm in which they have not threaded their influence through every hall and every court? And where lies the realm that has not suffered for it?”  
He turned back towards Záhovar. ”I do not know your face. What suffering will you bring this realm, I wonder?”  
”And here I feared this visit would be dull,” Záhovar sneered. ”I have barely set foot within these walls, and already I have been subject to an assassination attempt and accusations of disrupting the state. Is this what Rhûnakhôr has become in Khamûl's absence?”  
Now the woman on the throne sat up straight. ”What assassination attempt?”  
Záhovar smirked at her and snapped her fingers. Draumaturz dragged the gate captain along and made him kneel before her.  
”This man led the honour guard which guided me to the inner gate. As I passed it, hidden snipers fired a crossbow volley that would have killed me, if not for my loyal soldiers who shielded me. One of them now lie wounded at your doorstep. This man failed to find the culprits, claiming that an assassination attempt against a High Officer of Lugburz was a 'domestic affair'.” She gave the tark courtier a cold glance. ”Yet I am the one disrupting the peace? Be wary of where you throw your accusations, khagan. They may well ricochet.”

The woman on the throne questioned the gate captain in their own tongue for a brief while before turning to Záhovar. ”This is a dire matter,” she said, ”and I will have it investigated. The emissaries of Lugburz should be safe in Rhûn.” She straightened up in her seat. ”Duerrin, step aside. You will have ample opportunities to state your malcontent later.”  
The man, Duerrin, bowed curtly and did as told.  
”I am Dhâr-Guall, khagan of Rhûn,” the woman said, ”head of the khagan and wordly leader of this humble city and its surroundings. I greet you, your Eminent Ladyship, and welcome you to our fair realm. Have you anything you wish to ask or demand of the court?”  
”I am Záhovar, High Officer of Lugburz,” Záhovar replied. ”I have come to peruse the library and will make use of the guest wing during my stay here.”  
”The library?” Duerrin sneered. ”Have Mordor no books of their own?”  
”Vast though they may be, the Great Archives of Lugburz do not yet contain the collected knowledge of the world. As you should well know; my mentor often does the same.”  
”Her Elevated Ladyship Gîrakûn is a frequent guest here,” Dhâr-Guall concurred, ”though she tends to stay at the Academy during her visits.”  
”And why do you not?” Duerrin asked Záhovar.  
”Because I have no wish to do so,” she replied curtly. ”That should be reason enough. Now if you will excuse me...”  
”And if I do not?” Duerrin moved to block her path, but Graznikh would have none of it; he went chest-to-chest with the khagan and backed him away from her with a vicious growl.  
  
”I do not know your face,” Duerrin told her over the Orc's shoulder, ”but your name I am well aqcuainted with! She murdered the entire court of Mûmakan, wiped out a Haradrim tribe and on the way here, had her Uruks attack a Wainrider caravan! Women and children, slaughtered by hands that were under her command!”  
”Oh, fuck off!!” Graznikh exclaimed and had to bite his tongue when Záhovar snapped at him to be silent.  
”The court of Mûmakan was close to collapsing due to tark infiltration and corruption,” Záhovar said. ”It had to be cleansed, but it was not done by my hand. In truth, I lay wounded at the time. The Southron tribe had allied with the enemy and was disrupting the supply caravans along the souhern trade route; they were given numerous offers to lay down their arms but refused. As for the Wainriders...” She turned to Dhâr-Guall. ”Can you not see what madness that accusation is? The Wainriders' caravans are heavily guarded. My 'force' barely numbers a full uzhâk; attacking them with so few would be a suicide attempt!”  
”True, your forces were no doubt decimated. And my reports said that you had three trolls!” Duerrin said.  
”And where are they? In my pockets?” Spread laughter was heard from the audience. ”Have you any more baseless accusations? I tire of this charade that is only aimed at delaying one you falsely see as a threat.”  
Duerrin lost his temper. ”Your ”master” would destroy the world!”  
”Use what little wits you were graced with,” Záhovar snapped. ”You already know that belief to be false. This city along with this entire realm is already under our Master's dominion! Is it destroyed? See you only ruins and starving beggars in broken streets? No; this city and this realm flourishes, as do many others that lie under His sway. Those who do not, do not fail because of Him but _despite_ Him. The purpose of Lugburz is not wanton destruction. That fate is only rewarded those who would oppose us.”  
”Then what is the purpose of Lugburz?” Dhâr-Guall asked.  
Záhovar smiled inwardly. The khagan of Rhûn was a steadfast servant of Lugburz and knew full well the answer to that question; she had no doubt asked it on behalf of the more obstinate members of her court. Or perhaps to test her. ”To unite. He is the nave. We are the spokes.”  
”And the wheel itself..?”  
”The Ring that encircles the world. The Ring of Power.” A hushed murmur went through the crowd. The previous Khagan had secretly accepted one of the Nine from the Dark Lord's hand and eventually surrendered his throne to the current one shortly before he joined the ranks of the Nazgûl. But first he had lifted the city-state of Rhûnakhôr from the ashes of generations of strife and united the sedentary fishermen and the steppe nomads under one banner, a task never before accomplished. And he had built the Academy of Rhûn, its great library and many other wonders while doing so.  
”Imagine for but a moment that all peoples, known and unknown, were united under one banner, one Master,” Záhovar said. ”Would there be war? Or would all these peoples, for all their differences and petty disagreements, together reach a greatness so far unprecedented? Are you slaves, as the tarks would have you believe? Or are _they_ the true slaves under their own whims and pretense of freedom and merely unable to see it?”  
”What proof have you of this?” Duerrin asked.  
”My proof is right underneath your feet,” Záhovar replied calmly. ”This castle and city stands because the khagan at the time was as wise as your current one.”  
”You sent an invasion force against us not two score years ago!”  
”That was no invasion,” Dhâr-Guall protested quietly. ”The Uruks were reinforcements sent on my request to quell an uprising instigated by our enemies in an attempt to break us apart from within.”  
”An attempt that failed, for the better of all. Lugburz aids those who aid us,” Záhovar added. ”What proof have you of the tarks' faith? Gold lining your pockets, perhaps?”  
A few cries of outrage could be heard, but they were aimed more at Duerrin than at Záhovar. He straightened up as she stepped close and whispered to him. ”Weigh your words now,” she warned, ”for they are dangerously close to open treason.”  
There was not the slightest hint of sincerity in his eyes as he replied. ”If that is how I have been perceived, then I apologise. I only wish the best for this realm.”  
”As do I,” Záhovar murmured with a tiny smirk. ”After all, a weak link is better strengthened than discarded.” She ignored the man's furious look and turned back to the khagan. ”Are we in agreement then?”  
She let her eyes roam the crowd briefly before answering. ”Yes. The guest wing is yours, your Elevated Ladyship, for as long as you wish to stay here. The court is yours, of course, and any request you have shall be fulfilled to the best of our abilities.”  
”And see to it that the would-be assassin is found,” Záhovar added angrily before leaving with Graznikh and Draumaturz in tow.  
  
  
After climbing and descending a ridiculous amount of stairs, they finally reached the guest wing. It was not immediately connected to the main palace but was a smaller building on the eastern slope. Graznikh threw his surroundings a critical glance as he entered, followed by the others. Draumaturz was especially eager to get out of the accursed sunlight and fell asleep on the carpet that adorned the floor of the main hall the moment he reached it, unhappily oblivious to Urkhish's snickering.  
The guest wing was unlike anything most of the Orcs and Uruks had ever seen. The only place that came even close was the level of the main tower of Lugburz that the High Officers inhabited. Like the rest of the palace, the guest wing followed the lay of the land, sloping down along the natural terrace of the hill upon which it was built. The upper floor contained a small audience hall and a dining room with a beautiful view of the lush garden on the lower terrace. It was surrounded by a small gallery which led to other rooms along the outer wall and ended with the master bedroom on the edge of the terrace. That too was open towards the garden, where a small stream poured out of the cliff and down into a pond lined with sky blue-coloured clay tiles and filled with water lilies and other flowers that either floated on the surface or grew out of the white sand on its bottom. After a quick reconnaissance with Sulmurz to secure the area, Graznikh had counted to twenty rooms all in all.  
”Too many places to hide, windows where they shouldn't be. This place is a cutthroat's horny dream,” he told Záhovar when they returned to the main hall.  
”What is your suggestion then? That I sleep up here?”  
”That or cram all o' us into the downstairs bedroom. The latter'd be easier; we can block the windows'n there's only the one door.”  
”Then do so. This upper room can be used for activities that need more space. Krîtar!” she called.  
Margzat turned and saluted her. ”Aye, Lug-durbatar!”  
”This command is for all of you; stick together. Whenever any one of you need to leave these rooms, do so in pairs or more. No roaming about alone, not even on the palace grounds. I may be the assassin's primary target, but our enemy will no doubt try to whittle our numbers down if an opportunity arises, and there are already too many injured among us. We are not in Lugburz anymore, my snaga, and we are under attack.”  
The Uruks growled in reply and Graznikh caught Praktash winking at him with an excited leer. Graznikh replied by snapping his fangs at him. He shared his buddy's state of mind; the hunt was on for real now! He had the same feeling of warm, dark elatedness that he used to have when he ran with Tarnakh's raiding band, lying in ambush or circling prey that had no means of escaping the inevitable slaughter. _I'll make sure that rhyming rashface wets his breeches afore I kill him... I bloody_ hope _we're not supposed to bring him back alive after all this!_  
Kraash and Mûrnaluzh had been tasked with fetching the panniers from the stables, and now they returned. Margzat did a head count before giving the order to move down to the master bedroom.  
”The fuck's up with all the fancy firewood?” Mûrnaluzh commented while picking up a chair. ”They want us to trip over shit?”  
”Try not to get splinters,” Ghrazagh told him as Mûrnaluzh broke the chair over his knee.  
”Don't worry Mûrna,” Praktash snickered. ”I'll happily dig those nasty owwies outta your ugly hide... for a price.”  
”Watch it, or _you'll_ be the one getting splinters,” Mûrnaluzh growled and made a move as if shoving a piece of wood into someone's nose and then slamming their head against the floor.  
”Suit yourself,” Praktash commented with a shrug and returned to rummaging through his bag.  
  
When Margzat returned after a brief trip upstairs, the fire was already lit and the Uruks were making themselves at home. All the finely crafted furniture that had previously occupied the room had either been chopped up for firewood, used to block the windows or been unceremoniously tossed into a nearby room. In turn, all the adjacent rooms had been raided for pillows, mattresses, blankets and other things that could be used as substitutes for strawbags and the plunder had been strategically placed in front of the fireplace. The only things left intact were the curtains that covered the windows, the large bed to which had been added a number of large, soft pillows, a little mirror and a chair and table for the High Officer's use. Graznikh had asked Urkhish about that detail, to which the Uruk had simply replied: ”They're called High Officers for a reason.” He had, however, refused to go into further detail on what that reason was.  
Margzat chuckled when he saw the large hearth. In the stone were fastened a number of intricately decorated and polished brass arms with hooks upon which one could hang kettles for cooking food or water, and in a corner stood a number of trivets. On another hook on the side of the mantlepiece hung a number of tools with which the fire could be controlled.  
”Now _'AT'S_ what I call a cookin' fire!” he exclaimed.  
”Wouldn't get my hopes up,” Sulmurz muttered as he settled down for a rest. ”This place probably got an army o' cooks already.”  
Margzat gave him a glance that screamed 'idiot snaga'. ”I'm _thinkin'_ the Lug-durbatar's disinclined to have her whole followin' drop dead from poison. Not meanin' to mistrust our drugdealer's know-how,” he added with a wink to Praktash that was rewarded with a little purr from the latter, ”but the best healin's the one that never takes place.”  
”Couldn't agree more,” Praktash said. ”I've got my work cut an' stabbed out for me already.”  
”Yeah, 'cause I sure _wanted_ to play pincushion,” Sulmurz growled.  
”An' he shoved the Officer off her horse too, no less,” Urkhish chimed in. ”Bit rude, innit?”  
”Yeah, what the fuck was up with that?” Praktash asked. ”That's cruelty to Officers, that is!”  
”Look, ya idiot Uruks-” Sulmurz began, but was soon interrupted.  
”So are ya gonna keep flinging shit on the guy who took an arrow for our master for the rest of the night?” Graznikh asked loudly without opening his eyes. The silence that followed was choking. ”Good,” he added after a while. ”I didn't see any o' _you_ lift a finger to protect her until after the fact. You didn't even notice it before it was near too late! So quit grudging and shut up. I'm getting a headache from all this bickering.”  
”We were just jokin',” Praktash tried.  
”Nar, buddy,” Graznikh replied. ”You weren't.” They locked eyes for a moment, but Praktash soon looked away with a shrug. The other Uruks threw Graznikh a few sullen glances but remained quiet. Margzat, however, gave him an almost imperceptible nod. Graznikh grinned and made himself comfortable on the bed.  
  
The climate of Rhûn was, of course, different from that of Lugburz or the South. It was far colder, and the proximity of the inland sea meant that the most common weather was damp and windy. The large hearth and the curtains could only do so much to heat the room, but the bed had a unique construction that kept it warm and dry at all times. It was constructed out of cob, a mixture of clay and straw, and was hollow on the inside. Connected to it was a smaller cob stove, built in such a way that the heated air drawn in through the low fireplace was funnelled into the hollow bed, heating it from inside before leaving through the exhaust pipe in the wall. On top of the stove was a hot steel disc where one could place a kettle. This left warm tea or mulled wine always within reach for the bed's occupant without the need to leave the bed.  
”This is pure evil,” Graznikh purred into the pillow. ”How'm I supposed to ever get over this when we hit the road again?”  
”Think we could build something like this back in Lugburz?” Sulmurz asked. He was sitting on the floor with his back against the bed, eyes closed, basking in the heat that radiated from it. Mikbork and Zosh had balled up in a corner of the bed and fallen asleep, but Graznikh was disinclined to shoo them off for the time being.  
”I don't think that'd work out all that well,” Praktash said.  
”Why not?” Graznikh asked.  
”'Cause with the both o' you naked in it too, she'll soon begin to complain that it's too _hot._ ”  
”I bet she will,” Sulmurz purred. ”Gonna serve her juuust right.. Oww!” He had begun to lift his arms over his head, having forgotten about the injury.  
”Not with that shoulder, you aren't,” Graznikh commented.  
Sulmurz let out a disappointed whimper. ”Think she minds toppin'?”  
”I wouldn't know,” Graznikh replied with a leer. ”I never let her.” There was a choked sound from Margzat and Praktash began to laugh.  
”Get a hold o' yourself, krîtar!” he exclaimed. ”You're gonna hear a lot more like that before this is over!”  
”Hear more of what?” Záhovar asked as she entered.  
”Our braggin',” Praktash replied with a big grin. ”An' Sully's dream-wankin' over the one an' only fuck he ever got.”  
”You soggy-brained dickwad!” Sulmurz snarled.  
”Shut up, both o' ya!” Graznikh growled.  
”Lug-durbatar?” Margzat asked after giving the Lug-snagas a weary look.  
”Yes, krîtar?” Záhovar replied as she sat down beside the table.  
Margzat saluted her before stating his business. ”Was thinkin' about the cookin'... Whoever we're up against might not try to poison ya again, but the rest o' us aren't that tough. Ya trust the kitchen snagas here?”  
”As a matter of fact, I do not,” Záhovar said. ”And I did mean to ask if you were willing to continue performing that task. I doubt whatever the nobles here call 'food' is half as well-made as yours.”  
Margzat suddenly had to struggle hard not to grin.  
”Keep sweet-talking and the poor krîtar'll be nothing but a puddle at yer feet,” Graznikh chuckled with a wink at the snickering Praktash.  
”It would seem that the finer points of diplomacy are wasted on you, my Lug-snaga,” Záhovar replied with a smirk. ”But speaking of cooking; I shall have a word with the staff about having the meat and produce delivered here in sealed crates instead of to the main larder. Praktash, do you have what you need to test for the most common poisons?”  
”Sure do,” Praktash replied, ”but I'm low on peat moss.”  
”That should not be too difficult to find here. This whole place is a bog.”  
  
  
The Orcs and Uruks had ample time to grow quite hungry before the crates were delivered. Margzat broke one open with his sword and looked down expectedly, but when he saw the contents, his face grew more and more upset. He dug around in it for a while without finding what he searched for, then he let out a deep sigh. ”I can't believe this...”  
Graznikh frowned. ”What? What's missing?”  
”The meat!” Margzat growled. ”There's not a strip o' meat in there! It's all leaves'n roots'n shit!”  
After breaking open the other crates, they found that he was right; the crates were filled with a wide variety of green things, but meat, fish, eggs, any kind of animal-based food was absent.  
Golnauk kicked one of the crates to pieces. ”Fuck those tarks! What do they think we are, goats?”  
”I bet I could make you go 'baah' at any time, Golly,” Praktash murmured and shot the hysterically snickering Urkhish and Draumaturz a leer.  
”Can we cook _him_?” Lîrnash asked Margzat.  
Margzat gave Praktash an evaluating glance. ”I'm thinkin' I'd need more spices first.”  
”I don't need spicin' up!” Praktash protested.  
”Sure ya do,” Margzat grinned. ”I'm thinkin' it'd take a full wagonload o' pepper to mask the spunk flavour.”  
Sulmurz gave the crates a forlorn look. ”There went my appetite...”  
”Ohh Sully, come lick the hot sauce off my chest,” Praktash purred. ”I wanna see you gorge on my thick meat!”  
”Where's Záhovar?” Sulmurz asked Graznikh while trying to ignore the giggling Uruks.  
”Off to yell at another courtier, I'd wager. I hope she shoves her glaive down the throat o' that tark bastard.”  
”What tark?”  
”Some tark who somehow made it into the local chief's inner gang. No idea how, but he was real in-yer-face about not liking Záhovar's face, or Lugburz in general.”  
”Think he's behind the attack at the gate?” Margzat asked.  
Graznikh shrugged. ”No idea. But I'm sure as fuck that he's behind _this!_ ” He pointed at the crates.  
”Still got some rations,” Margzat muttered. ”I'll make do. 'Least they packed spices, an' the roots're edible.”  
”And I'm gonna ask Záhovar for permission to have a chat with the staff,” Graznikh growled. ”She's supposed to eat this too!”

When Záhovar _did_ return, she was angrier than a bag of cats. ”I am going to have that man tied to a spit and slowly roasted over a Kirithgal mud pit!!”  
Graznikh snickered at that. ”Lemme guess; tark?”  
”Tark?!” Záhovar spat. ”That _individual_ is no tark! He is... He is...”  
”A cock-uppin', skivin', piss-plastered waste o' breath?” Zosh suggested.  
”Exactly!” Záhovar hissed and Zosh gave her a wide, happy grin. ”I do hope he has a family, for if so I will feed his children's hearts to my horse and make him eat the resulting dung!” She looked down at the bowl that Sulmurz offered her. ”What is this?”  
”Supper,” he replied faintly.  
Záhovar's eyes narrowed as she took a closer look at the watery soup. ”Why use rations? The crates were upstairs!” She looked to Margzat for an explanation and the krîtar wilted a little.  
”No meat in those crates,” he explained. ”Just green stuff'n roots. I'm thinkin' they forgot to add 'at.”  
Záhovar stared at him for a while. Then she spun and threw the bowl against the wall with a hiss that grew into an earsplitting scream that made Orc and Uruks alike cover their ears. Sulmurz stared at her as if she had turned into a stampeding herd of cows that were all aiming for him.  
Praktash suddenly appeared out of nowhere and caught Záhovar from behind.  
”Unhand me at once!” she hissed.  
”Sure I will,” he replied. ” _After_ you've eaten.”  
”That is no food!”  
”Sure it is,” Graznikh said with a lopsided grin as he went to stand in front of her. ”Ya know the krîtar makes a mean ration soup.”  
”I must discipline the staff! If I let this pass-”  
”The staff can wait 'til tomorrow,” Praktash interrupted. ”They won't go anywhere.”  
”Sit down, have a meal'n a proper drink,” Graznikh coaxed. ”'S no use disciplining those idiots if you drop from lack o' nourishment in the middle of it.”  
Reluctantly, Záhovar allowed herself to be maneuvered down onto a pillow. The Uruks discreetly edged away. Praktash propped an armful of smaller pillows behind her back and nodded for Margzat to fill another bowl, while Graznikh removed her armour and began to knead her shoulders. She gave the new bowl a disdainful glance but ate after some encouragement. Three bowls later, she had calmed down considerably.  
”Much better,” Graznikh said with a grin. ”I'm ready to go after those staff morons if you are.”  
”I'll be...” Záhovar began, but had to pause as she could no longer stifle the yawn. She leaned her head in her hands. ”I don't have time for this,” she murmured drowsily.  
”Sure you do,” Praktash murmured back. He took Graznikh's place behind her and began to massage her scalp with his fingertips while purring soothingly. Within moments, she fell back against his chest with a little snore. Praktash suppressed a chuckle and picked her up.  
Sulmurz, who had been squatting at a safe distance, came forward after Praktash had carried the sleeping High Officer to bed. ”That happen often?”  
”Nar, once or twice a year,” Graznikh replied. ”Takes a lot to set her off like that.”  
”So what, err, 'set her off' this time?”  
”Who knows?” Praktash replied as he returned and claimed the pillows Záhovar had been using. Graznikh took the chance to make himself comfortable in the Uruk's lap. ”Y'know when she starts laughin' at your jokes she's gonna blow within a month or two.”  
”Ev'ryone gets cranky when they don't eat or sleep,” Zosh said.  
”How do you know she hasn't been eating?” Graznikh asked.  
Zosh glared at him. ”'Oo's been washing her smallclothes for the past-?”  
”Sshh!” Sulmurz hissed and clamped his hands over her mouth. ”Keep yer voice down, don't wanna wake her!” Zosh tried to bite him, but he slowly dug his claws into her cheeks until he gave up and submitted. Mikbork began to growl but a warning glare from Graznikh and the fact that Sulmurz backed away without hurting his mate soon calmed him down.

Once he had returned all the cooking utensils to their respective places, Margzat came over to sit beside Praktash and Graznikh. The former immediately saw an opportunity and placed his legs in the krîtar's lap and his head in Graznikh's and made himself comfortable with a smug, contented grin. Margzat and Graznikh shared a look and then started tickling him mercilessly.  
”Now now, Bukrazikh,” Margzat chuckled quietly as his victim began to squirm and squeal. ”Don't wake our master!”  
”I hate youuu,” Praktash wheezed. They soon stopped and let the distraught healer catch his breath.  
”So Lug-snaga're basically just nannies?” Mûrnaluzh asked Golnauk. ”Just askin',” he added quickly as both Lug-snaga and their would-be additions began to growl.  
”Watch yer mouth,” Margzat rumbled. ”Don't make me think ye're insultin' Lug-durbatar!”  
”Wouldn't dream of it,” Mûrnaluzh sneered.  
”We back to that now?” Margzat sneered back. ”Good! Was gettin' bloody bored here without anyone wantin' to stab me in the back.”  
”I can stab you in the back you want,” Praktash grinned.  
”Nar, Bukrazikh. Ya hit below the belt.” Margzat rose and stretched. ”Arright, let's get some shut-eye.” The others soon followed their krîtar's example, but Praktash and Graznikh remained awake a little longer.  
”Well,” Graznikh whispered. ”We made it this far.”  
”We'll make it further,” Praktash whispered back. ”I know we will.”  
”With three of us outta order and just the one warg?”  
”They'll heal. Somethin' tells me we'll be here a while.”  
”Won't get us new wargs though.”  
”So? You're strong. So is Sully an' Ghakû. Kraash... Well, he'll walk whether he wants to or not.” He looked around. ”Where is he, by the way?”  
”Sleeping upstairs, same as Ghakû. Says he can't sleep near Záhovar.”  
Praktash nodded, the smile fading a little from his face. ”Good, I guess...”  
Graznikh held him a little tighter. ”Relax buddy, it's over now.”  
”It's not that easy.”  
”I know... Want a backrub?”  
Praktash grinned. ”Sure, so long you keep the claws away. I don't want scratches like last time.” He rolled over until he lay flat on his belly and winced and purred as Graznikh began to knead his sore muscles. Once he was relaxed, Graznikh ran his claws up and down his back with feather-light touches. Soon Praktash's purrs faded as he drifted off to sleep.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rhûnakhôr - "Fair Rhûn". 'Khôr' means 'lord' in Adûnaic (see Adûnakhôr, Lord of the West, the Adûnaic name for Manwë) but in the Black Speech, it means 'good' or 'fair'. It is similar to 'mîr', but the latter is aimed at physical objects while the former is more abstract.


	13. Ker-Naish

When Záhovar woke up the next morning, she found a goblin infestation in her bed. No one had thought to shoo Mikbork and Zosh off the bed the previous night and at some point they had crawled up around her; Mikbork used her shoulder as a pillow while Zosh had curled up around her head. Both goblins were purring softly, and it was a strangely soothing sound. _It seems that the book I read long ago told the truth,_ she thought, _that before our Master returned after the Great Cataclysm, the smaller Orc breeds changed due to their vulnerable stature and situation; those who made sounds during sleep did not live long enough to breed, and so they are no longer capable of snoring. If I remember correctly, that applies to Orc children of all breeds, if breeds they can be called._ She glanced at the snoring Uruks. _Clearly that does not apply to grown warrior-Orcs or Uruks, though._ Then she smirked to herself. _What an odd topic to think about the first thing in the morning._

Eventually she disentangled herself from the sleeping snufflers and left the bed. She tried to step over her snoring Lug-snaga without waking them, but Graznikh looked up the moment her foot landed near him.  
”Mornin',” he whispered. ”Where ya off to?”  
”To relieve myself,” she whispered back.  
”Hang on; I'm coming with ya.” He yawned as he got up and followed her out into the garden. The grass was damp and tickled their bare feet as they walked to the other end, far enough to not be heard by the others. ”Why didn't they place a piss hole downstairs? Seems like a long distance to run in an emergency.”  
”There is a chamber pot in the cupboard at the foot of the bed, but I would prefer not to use it.”  
”I'm with ya there.” He turned towards the wall while she squatted on a part of the well-trimmed lawn that had not been treaded to mud by Orc boots. They took a moment to listen to the silence of the late watches.  
Graznikh chuckled a little.  
”Why do you laugh?”  
”'S just...” He looked down and smiled. ”You've no idea how much I missed this when we were down south.”  
Záhovar gave him an odd look. ”You... could not relieve yourself in the desert?”  
Graznikh gave her a toothy grin as he retied his loincloth. ”O' course I could! But... not with you. Not like _this._ ” He chuckled again. ”Stupid, eh? Of all the stuff I coulda been missing, I picked taking a piss alongside ya.”  
Záhovar was unsure how she would answer that. ”It is basic, at the very least.”  
”Aye... maybe that's what makes it what it is. Simple'n basic, like a little piece from back before... Before Towers'n Hands'n Shadows...” He flashed her a leer. ”I still think there's a Foot somewhere.”  
Záhovar smirked. ”Judging by all the walking we have done lately, that would be me.”  
That made Graznikh laugh out loud. He quickly pressed the back of his hand against his mouth not to wake the others up. ”Skai, I like that!” After a moment's hesitation, he placed an arm around her waist. Záhovar did not resist him, but neither did she make any sign of encouragement. Graznikh did not care, now that he had her close. ”That makes us even, at least in that part! Two foot-soldiers o' Lugburz, doing the dirty work for the folks up Topside...”  
”Is that how you see us?”  
He shrugged. ”Is it a problem if I do?”  
”You are my Lug-snaga.”  
”Sure am. But the snaga jacket doesn't really suit me, never did. I tried to be that when ya first collared me, even after Praktash joined us. I tried 'til I sha near disappeared, but it didn't work. I guess I'm too used to going where I please, even after all this time.”  
”So you are leaving?”  
”What? Nar!” He gave her an incredulous look. ”That's what I'm tellin' ya, I'm _not_ leaving! Skai... I'm just... Tarnakh always said I was meant to be in charge. He bloody expected me to knife him and take over the raiding band. Never happened, and...” He looked away briefly to collect his thoughts. ”I'm not sure how good I'll be at the chief business, but I'll drive this herd o' cats for ya, if you want me to.” He gave her a quizzical look. ” _Do_ you want me to?”  
Záhovar tentatively brought her hand up to his face and brushed a few coarse, tangled strands from it. ”Your hair is growing long.”  
”Aye, 's getting in my eyes. I need to trim soon.” He purred a little as he rubbed his nose against her hand. ”You didn't answer my question.”   
The silence stretched.  
  
”You did well with Margzat,” Záhovar said at last. ”Knowing when and how to delegate responsibility is an important skill for a leader. You gave his command of the Uruks back; now they will not, _can_ not challenge you without first having to face him. And he is indebted to you. My elevating you to kritauk that first time was a mistake; you were not ready for it.”  
”Am I ready now?”  
The corner of her mouth arched slightly upwards. ”That is a question only you can answer.”  
Graznikh smirked. ”So it's both 'yes' and 'no'?”  
”Do you not believe in yourself?” When he did not answer, she continued. ”If you cannot uphold at least a pretense of confidence before your subordinates, they will begin to question you no matter how sound your orders are. And that is far more dangerous than questioning yourself. Physical strength only goes so far; mental strength is just as important. Even when indecisive, you must appear to remain in control.”  
He nodded slowly. ”I'll keep that in mind... Does it mean you're backing me?”  
She smiled. ”You intend to draw the words out of me, do you not? Yes, you have my support. Is this a part of you fulfilling that promise you made me early on?”  
”What promise?”  
”You said that you would gather a band of... What were the words you used?”  
”Right... A band o' solid, trusty lads to watch yer back.” He chuckled. ”Didn't think ya remembered.”  
”And have you found any?”  
He nodded. ”Praktash, obviously; Sulmurz too, I guess. Haven't thought much of him lately, but that move he pulled by the gate was kinda impressive.”  
”He is far more perceptive than he appears,” Záhovar agreed.  
Graznikh grinned. ”You like him, don'tcha?”  
She gave him a mischievous smile and whispered; ”Praktash is not wholly wrong. He _is_ fun to... play with.”  
”Skai, between the two o' you he's gotta have to watch himself both back and front! Poor sod.”

Now it was Záhovar's time to laugh softly. ”That is two. Anyone else?”  
Graznikh frowned thoughtfully. ”Kraash is outta the question; I'd rather stab _him_ in the back than let him close to ya ever again. Ghakû's a fighter and he's tough, but he's not getting younger.  
I'm not sure 'bout the Uruks. Actually, I'm sure of two of 'em; Ghrazagh'n Mûrnaluzh will never be on my team. Both're too ambitious and shifty, and I'm pretty sure they'd never take my orders, not for real. They only do now 'cause Margzat's in their way. Lîrnash's a lapdog, so he goes too. Golnauk's solid, but I'd hate to pull the ushatârkû away from the life he knows. He's an Uruk through'n through. I don't mind Urkhish though, he's alright. Don't know Draumaturz enough to say, but I've the same feeling about him.”  
”And Margzat himself..?”  
He sighed. ”I don't know... I really don't. I know he's asked for the collar; Praktash told me. But there's something about him that... I don't know.”  
”Is it because of Praktash?”  
”Nar, I'm not the jealous type. I'm glad for him, he's really livened up since Margzat got involved. It's not rivalry either; for all our scuffles I'd trust Margzat to hold my back more than any o' the others. But there's _something_ that raises my hackles whenever he's close, and I can't put my claw on what that is. Buggers me, it does.”  
Záhovar frowned slightly. ”I do hope that you are wrong this time.”  
”Aye,” Graznikh replied quietly. ”If he hurts my buddy, I'll tear his windpipe out and fistfuck him with it.”  
”A proportionate sentiment. What?” she asked when Graznikh began to laugh.  
”'Proportionate'... I just can't get enough o' the way ya speak at times, âmbal!” Záhovar's slightly confused smile made him laugh again. ”So... where're you headed?”  
”The Academy, to begin investigating that note.”  
”Great... I'll just gear up, then we can-”  
”No.”  
Graznikh stopped. ”You what?”  
”You need not come.”  
He glared at her, hardly believing his ears. ”Did you fry your brain?! We barely made it through the gate afore someone tried to kill ya! If Sulmurz hadn't kept his wits about him you'd be dead! And now you wanna go traipsin' through the streets _alone?_ ”  
”I cannot be sure that they would let an Orc inside the library, and this may take the whole day. I cannot have you sit on the front porch all that time!”  
Graznikh was about to continue to protest, but then he had to admit that sitting in the sun all day was not an attractive prospect. ”Then... Take Akûl.”  
Záhovar arched an eyebrow. ”The warg? What makes you think they'll permit him anymore than they would you?”  
”Because you're a High Officer and can just tell 'em to? Besides, I figure a Warg's less intimidating than an armed Orc. Easier to 'control' and all that.”   
Záhovar thought his offer over.  
”C'mon,” Graznikh whined. ”I'll be just as sick'n sweating in here as I'd be on that porch if I knew you're out there without so much as a snuffler to take an arrow for ya!”  
”Very well,” Záhovar said. ”I shall bring Akûl.”  
”Thank the Eye!” he murmured.   
Záhovar glanced at him with an amused expression. ”For all your talk of independence, you do invoke Him quite often.”  
”Well, I do like what He's done to the place. Lugburz, I mean. Praktash made sure I learned to like the city life.” As he turned to walk back to the bedroom, he caught a brief flash of bright green behind the curtain in the doorway. He grinned to himself as he donned his clothes and armour; Praktash was pretending to sleep but could not keep the big, happy grin from his face. _Eavesdropping, were ya?I hope you liked what was said._ He helped Záhovar don her armour as well and led the way as they went down to the stables.   
  
The stables were located behind the palace proper. The many stablehands were already busy feeding the horses when Graznikh and Záhovar entered, and they garnered many frightened or curious looks as they passed. Graznikh especially was studied with fascination until he was so uncomfortable that all he wanted was to bolt and hide out of sight. He felt like he had a big sign that said 'shoot me' painted on his back and breathed a sigh of relief as they entered another building and got away from all the eyes.  
Akûl welcomed them with the same exuberant enthusiasm as always. He and the pack horses had been given a stall of their own; the local horses could not stand the warg's presence and the pack horses smelled enough of the same to warrant a similar reaction. Záhovar's horse had been handed over to a healer who specialised in caring for animals; the woman had screamed out loud when she saw the horrid gash in the horse's face.  
Graznikh greeted him back and it was only after some rough tumbling that he could get his attention long enough to explain the situation and what he wanted the warg to do.  
”I'm placing a lot o' trust in ya now, pup,” he growled. ”So I'm warning ya; don't you go lettin' anything happen to my master!”  
”Muzgûrgol,” Akûl growled and lowered his head. Then he took up position at Záhovar's side.  
”Good boy!” Graznikh grinned. ”Try not to eat anyone. Say, master?”  
”Yes, my Lug-snaga?”  
”Mind if I take him outta the city for a run now and then? It's a shame to leave him locked up in here all the time, and we could both use the exercise.”  
”That you may, as long as you keep your wits about you.”  
Graznikh grinned. ”Don't worry, I've no plans to drop from an arrow in the neck.” He gave Akûl one final scratch before heading back towards the guest wing.  
  


The streets of the city were nearly empty in the calm of early dawn. A few wisps of mist still lingered in those alleys that lay in the shadow, but they were slowly being dispersed by the rising sun. The only citizens that Záhovar met on her way to the Academy were women who were carrying brightly painted clay amphorae on yokes down to the large public wells located along the main boulevard. Záhovar silently took note of the custom but paid them no further heed; she had far more important matters on her mind.  
The Academy of Rhûn was one of her mentor's favourite haunts, and Záhovar did not look forward to encountering her disciples. _No doubt they will send reports on my every move,_ she thought. _I must take heed not to reveal my true purpose here._  
The Academy was surrounded by a high but thin wall that blocked out the general buzz of the city, and a lush garden that made the air noticeably cooler as she stepped through the gate. There were no guards here and the winding gravel path was empty but at the door to the nearest building, an attendant came out to greet her, pausing briefly to give Akûl a worried glance before approaching.  
”Greetings, your Elevated Ladyship,” the attendant said with a thick accent. ”We had news of your coming; if it pleases you, I will take you to the Head Archivist.”  
Záhovar was puzzled as she got a closer look at the attendant's face. There was no telling whether the person before her was man or woman; neither the loose-fitting clothes nor their voice gave any clues in either direction.  
”I apologise if my appearance gives you pause,” they said without looking at her as they turned to lead the way. ”My kind is not a common sight, and I know that I sometimes make those uncomfortable who are used to a more rigid division of the genders.”  
”Does it impair your ability to perform whatever tasks you are given by the Head Archivist?” Záhovar asked.   
This made the attendant's steps slow briefly. ”No... No, I do not think so. At least, not enough to be noticed, as far as I know.”  
”Then I cannot see why anyone should have a problem with it. In the eyes of Lugburz, appearance matters little.”  
”I thank you for your kind words, your-”  
”Truth is neither kind nor wicked; it merely is.”  
”As you say, your Elevated Ladyship.”  
 _I am beginning to hate that title,_ Záhovar thought as she followed the attendant into the main building and up a flight of stairs to the Head Archivist's study. There they left her alone after knocking on the door. A voice called for her to enter, and so she did.

Záhovar had expected an older man or woman, someone similar to her former tutor, not the strapping young man who sat behind the cluttered desk. He gave her a bright smile as she entered and seemed completely unphased by the large warg that followed her. ”Welcome to the Academy! You must be her Elevated Ladyship Záhovar. Or should I call you 'lord' Záhovar instead? If my information is correct, that is the title you prefer.”  
”I am Záhovar, yes,” she replied, a bit taken aback. ”And yes, I prefer... the other title.”  
”Good! Please; have a seat.” He stood and walked over to a nearby tray. ”Would you like a glass of water? Unfortunately I have nothing else; I find it clutters my mind far worse than I do this poor desk.”  
Záhovar nodded, suddenly remembering that she had not eaten anything since last night. She signalled for Akûl to lie down; the warg obeyed and positioned himself so that he had his eyes on the door. ”Water will do fine.” The head Archivist nodded and returned with two full glasses.  
”Now then... I take it you did not come here just to share a glass of water with me,” he said with a smile. ”What is your wish?”  
”I have acquired a map that does not match any that I have previously seen,” Záhovar explained after taking a sip. ”I had no time to return to Lugburz and consult the library there, so I decided to pass by here and seek someone with in-depth knowledge of old maps, in case the one I found matches one here.”  
”In-depth knowledge of ancient maps...” The Head Archivist smiled. ”Well, that was easy! The one you seek is called Ker-Naish, and you have already met them. They led you here to my study.”  
”'They?'”  
”Yes, Ker-Naish is beyond gender and wishes to be referred to with neutral pronouns. 'It' seems a bit... dehumanising, so 'they' appeared the best alternative.”  
”Perhaps Lugburz should make an effort to make the Black Speech the official tongue of all lands under the Shadow? Then that little issue would be out of the way.”  
The Head Archivist nodded, albeit hesitantly. ”Perhaps... Though I do enjoy the many nuances that different tongues present. Language _is_ an expression of thought, after all, and every culture thinks a little differently.”  
”That would be an interesting discussion for another time,” Záhovar said with a little smirk. ”But for now, I have a task at hand. Ker-Naish, you said?”  
”Yes. No doubt they are still waiting outside.”  
  
The Head Archivist was correct; the moment Záhovar stepped out of his study after taking her leave, the attendant appeared from around a corner. ”Your Elevated Ladyship,” they greeted. ”May I take you someplace else?”  
”I have been told that you are an authority on maps,” Záhovar said. "Ker-Naish."  
”That is correct, your Elevated Ladyship.”  
”I have a map that shows an unknown location. It has no text and indeed I am not even certain that it is authentic, but if so, then I must find the location it shows.”  
”I see. If I might see it, I may be able to-”  
”The map itself is confidential,” Záhovar interrupted. ”But I can describe it in some detail. I have also been told that the Academy of Rhûn has one of the finest map collections in the known world.”  
”That is true,” Ker-Naish said with a nod. ”Would you like for me to take you there? I can help guide you within the library and bring you the maps you want; then you can search for that which matches yours.”  
”That would be much appreciated.”  
The library lay in a large, dome-shaped building that occupied the center of the Academy grounds. Despite being by far the busiest place, it was also the quietest; Akûl's claws clicked against the stone floor and Záhovar's hard soles echoed as she followed Ker-Naish in through the main hall and into one of the annexes.  
”This is the map collection,” Ker-Naish explained with a gesture towards the high scroll shelves. ”The largest in the known world, or so it is said. Not all of them are up to date or even accurate; some depict realms that have been lost to conquest or internal strife, others depict lands that no longer exist in a physical sense.”  
”The Cataclysm,” Záhovar filled in and Ker-Naish nodded.  
”Indeed. Some are not even translated, or possible to translate. You have free access to the full collection, of course. Here is a guide for navigating the library. I shall remain nearby; simply call on me if you need assistance.”  
Záhovar nodded and waved her hand dismissively. After confirming that Ker-Naish was well out of the way, she picked the note up. _Northeast, near the sea..._ The maps were organised into several categories; first into areas that were a part of the realms of Shadow and those that were not, then both categories were sorted by the date of their making, the region they depicted, what distance it lay from Lugburz and in what direction it lay. There was also a third category; the unknown, untranslatable maps. Záhovar began searching in the first category, and soon she had gathered an armful of maps of varying quality which she brought over to a table. Then she took each scrollcase, opened it and spread the map on the large study table by using the designated map weights. Then she began to follow every known coastline near and far, searching for the one that would match that on the note.  
  
Several tolls later, she rubbed her eyes and suppressed a groan. _That is all I can read for one day... This is going to take a while._ She considered showing the note to Ker-Naish, but she could not be sure that they were not one of Gîrakûn's accomplices. _Or Dachman's, for that matter. I need someone I can... trust._ She frowned. The morning had been good; Graznikh had seemed calm, glad, more his old self than she had seen for a long time. _But then why am I not content? Why is it so hard for me to relax and focus?_ She rubbed her temples. _Perhaps Praktash is right; I_ have _overexerted myself. A bath and a proper meal is no doubt what I need, as do the others._ She closed the book and called for Ker-Naish. After instructing them to leave the books and maps in the order she had put them and return those she had read to their respective shelves, she signed for Akûl to follow her back to the stables.  
On her way back to the guest wing, she decided to take care of the problem with the Orcs' lack of protein and headed for the palace kitchen. The overseer of the larders received her near the grain silos.  
”The crate delivered to my staff was void of all meat. Why?”   
”My Elevated Ladyship,” the intendent said with a smarmy smile. ”Fashion dictates some cruel rules at times, but if we do not follow them, how can we be considered an elevated society? The flesh of animals have not been served on the high-borns' plates for many years! Surely we are above such base consumption.”  
”Need I remind you that the members of my staff are _Orcs,_ not finicky Men? They cannot sustain themselves on salad! And neither can I, come to think of it. Will you refuse a High Officer's command?”  
The man gave her a scandalised look. ”Of course not! But... there is no meat in the larders. Nor are there any butchers on the palace grounds. We would have to requisition it from... further downhill, and hire someone competent enough to-”  
”There is no need for such extremes. Kill one of the horses; mine, for example. It is already dam- I mean, injured. Surely such an 'elevated' society would not let injured animals suffer?  
”No, but... That is not within my-”  
Záhovar turned on the man with a hiss. ”Have I been unclear, overseer? If you are incapable of following my orders, I shall have my staff come here and take care of the matter themselves! _And_ have every member of _your_ staff watch, including yourself, as a reminder of what happens to those who disobey me!”  
”The horse will be slaughtered!” the intendent stuttered. ”And delivered to the guestwing, as per your instructions!”  
”Good,” she replied with a smirk. ”That was not so hard, was it? Sometimes, fashion must step back and give way to practicality.” With that, she left the still trembling overseer and went to the baths to take care of a far more urgent problem.  
  
  
”Boooriiing,” Praktash murmured. He lay on his back on a large pillow on Záhovar's bed with his legs up against the wall, hammering his heels against it.  
Urkhish grunted in reply. ”So what do we do?”  
”No mischief; krîtar's watching,” Draumaturz muttered. A flash of dark red revealed that Margzat was indeed keeping a close eye on the trio. Praktash grinned and stuck his tongue out at him, a gesture that Margzat returned by snaking his split tongue around one of his thick fangs.  
”Where're the others?” Urkhish asked.  
”Upstairs,” Ghrazagh said as he limped in. He could still not put any weight on his leg, but sheer stubbornness kept him up and walking nonetheless. ”Sparring.”  
”How's the leg, ushatâr?” Margzat asked him. Ghrazagh shrugged dismissively, but it took him far longer than usual to sit down on one of the large poufs.  
”Give us a look then,” Praktash said and crawled over to him with a friendly grin. ”No point in havin' all my effort go to waste now, is there?”  
”Quit fussing Ghâshkaum,” Ghrazagh growled. ”Doesn't suit ya.”  
”Just doin' my job.”  
Ghrazagh gave up and let him do as he pleased. Praktash shook his head with a displeased scowl after unwrapping the bandage and taking a sniff.  
”What's yer thinkin'?” Margzat asked.  
”It'd heal faster if he stopped wobblin' about,” Praktash muttered as he poured water from one of the skins into a kettle and placed it over the fire. ”I don't like the smell; it's not blood rot, but it's not good either. An' it's too hot, like the flesh around it is on fire.”  
”So I'm gonna lose my leg now? Some fleshknitter you are,” Ghrazagh snorted.  
”If it wasn't for me, you wouldn't be sittin' here at all!” Praktash snarled back. ”How's that for fleshknittin'?”  
Ghrazagh chuckled disdainfully but a warning growl from Margzat shut him up.  
”Let the healer do his job,” the krîtar said in a voice that brooked no protest. ”I'm thinkin' ya won't be fit for fightin' any faster if he dumps a pot o' boilin' drugs over yer head.”  
”Well, it'd make my hair shiny,” Ghrazagh leered.  
”Aye, a pretty corpse,” Margzat guffawed. A call for them to come upstairs, ”Officer's orders”, interrupted their merriment. Ghrazagh sighed and began to get up with as indifferent an expression as he could muster.  
”Nar, stay down here,” Margzat said. ”I'm thinkin' 'at leg'll need the rest.”  
”Musta had me mistaken for Golnauk,” Ghrazagh growled as he limped towards the garden. ”It takes more than a bloody twig to slow me down.”  
Even so, he was far behind the others when he finally reached the large room that dominated the upstairs entrance area. A large crate had been delivered and Mûrnaluzh was breaking it open under Záhovar's supervision.  
”Meat will arrive this evening,” she told them. ”Unfortunately, the only kind available at such short notice was horse.” She paused as Graznikh roared ”YES!!!” at the top of his lungs and made the others laugh. ”But for now...” She reached into the crate and took up a greyish-green, waxy lump. ”You have a dire task ahead of you. You _smell,_ my snaga. You stink as only a band of Orcs and Uruks recently returned from a long, arduous march can, and my delicate senses simply cannot abide by this any longer! You have water aplenty in the garden, and now you have soap. It is time for you to take a _bath_.”  
  
Graznikh chuckled as he caught the soap that Záhovar threw him and watched the others take their share of soaps, brushes and rough linen towels with varying levels of enthusiasm. Praktash was first in line and gave the brush an appreciative grin as he picked it up. Mikbork and Zosh looked particularly sceptical about the whole prospect and snorted and gagged over the smell of the soap; Mikbork's eyes and nose were soon running like he had rubbed them both with raw onion.  
Graznikh had an idea and threw Sulmurz a glance. The archer kept drawing his brush across the palm of his hand with a conniving look at Záhovar, a look that told Graznikh that his mind had turned to similar thoughts as his own. A light punch on the shoulder caught his attention and Graznikh whispered ”let's get her”. Sulmurz's eyes narrowed briefly, then he leered and whispered ”lead on”. Graznikh turned towards Záhovar. ”Hey, master?”  
Záhovar looked up from the crate. ”Yes?”  
”Since we're all going bathing... Why don'tcha join us?”  
She arched an eyebrow, but had no time to speak before Praktash chimed in. ”Y'know, that's a great idea! I've already sold in ghâshpau. Now let's scrub her proper an' drag her to the steam baths once we get back to Lugburz. Then all we hafta do is get her drunk an' seriously involved in a fuck-frenzy an' she'll be so spoiled by all the little Orcish delights we can offer that she'll never go back to Top Ones an' their prancyin'.”  
” _Bukrazikh!_ ” Margzat almost squeaked with a scandalised expression. Praktash's only reply was a wide-eyed, innocent look while sucking on a fingertip.  
”Well _thanks_ for ruining my sinister plan to drag the High Officer into the dirt, buddy,” Graznikh said with a grin. ”He just can't keep his mouth shut,” he told Záhovar with a wink. ”Just forget what ya heard. No sneaky thoughts behind this one.”  
Sulmurz had watched the exchange with an increasingly confused look. ”So, uh... Are we doing this or not?” he asked Graznikh discreetly.  
”Haven't gotten an answer from the Top One yet,” Graznikh replied with a 'come-hither' leer. Záhovar seemed to think it over.  
”C'mon master,” Sulmurz purred and licked his lip piercings. ”What's the point o' havin' snaga if ya don't use 'em, eh?”  
”And who said that I have no such intentions?” Záhovar replied with a creepy smile. ”Very well. I shall take you up on this perfectly innocent offer.”   
  
Margzat was still muttering when he and Praktash reached the pond.  
”Oh, drop it 'Zat! You'll just have to get used to the fact that me an' Záhovar's got somethin' _special_ goin' on. That includes rule-breakin' statements.”  
Margzat snorted. ”If someone else heard 'at...”  
”Heard what?” Draumaturz asked. ”The part 'bout Orcish delights or the part where she plays opa-snaga in a fuck-frenzy?”  
”You try 'at an' I'll redecorate the walls with yer brain!!” Margzat growled.  
”I'm with 'Zat here,” Praktash said mirthlessly. ”Lift a finger with that thought in mind an' it'll be no more cock for any of ya!”  
”That's the worst ya can come up with?” Ghrazagh chuckled. ”A fuck ban?”  
”Yup,” Praktash replied with a demented leer. ”A permanent one where I gnaw your cock off an' shove it down your throat. Let's see how far _you_ can take it afore ya choke!”  
”That's my buddy!” Graznikh chirped as he passed with Záhovar and Sulmurz in tow. As Záhovar passed, Praktash grabbed the shoulder strap on her armour and pulled her close.  
”Enjoy,” he purred in her ear and flicked his tongue over the tip before letting her go with a wink and clicked his tongue. Margzat watched the exchange with a disapproving scowl.   
”Ye're a queer one,” Urkhish chuckled. ”D'ya fancy her?”  
”'Course I do,” Praktash replied with a grin. ”In my own queer, fire-haired kinda way.”  
Draumaturz looked confused. ”But... I thought you said you weren't that kinda guy?”  
Praktash rolled his eyes. ”'Fancy' doesn't have to include fuckin'.”  
The Uruks looked at him with blank expressions.  
”Oh, c'mon! You've never met someone you didn't wanna fuck?” When the only response was more blank looks, Praktash grabbed his towel. ”You're unbelievable.”  
”They're just messin' with ya, Bukra,” Golnauk chuckled. ”I'd wager they all wanna be in yer boots.”  
”Keep dreaming,” Ghrazagh sneered. ”No way'm I stickin' my cock anywhere near something like _that._ ” He nodded towards Záhovar's back as it disappeared into the downstairs bedroom.  
” _That_ is my master, my buddy an' my Kafsokhôr,” Praktash growled, ”an' if she wants to fuck you, I'll be there holdin' ya down an' tuggin' your cock hard for her no matter how much you beg for mercy!”  
Ghrazagh gave him a look of pure outrage. ”What the _fuck_ did you just call the Lug-durbatar?!”  
Praktash shrugged with an obnoxious grin.  
Margzat leered. ”I'm thinkin' I should scrub yer tongue for that, Bukrazikh! But I'll settle for somethin' a little easier.” With that, he shoved Praktash into the pond.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Go not to the elves for counsel, for they will say both no and yes." :D The next chapter will be an affront to delicate senses. Just sayin'.
> 
> Kafsokhôr - lit. 'tasty bite', morsel


	14. Tumbles

Graznikh paused when he heard the splash, but Záhovar placed a hand on his shoulder. ”He will be fine.”  
Graznikh chuckled. ”Oh, I'd wager he'll be. But will the krîtar be once Praktash gets outta there?”  
Záhovar smirked. ”I am sure he will... recuperate.”  
”Whatever,” Sulmurz said. ”I'd say we're a bit off track here.”  
”Oh?”  
”Aye. I'd say the important question here is... will _you?_ ”  
Záhovar turned to give him a scandalised look, but was interrupted as Graznikh started tugging at the straps holding her armour in place.  
”I would prefer it if we all had a bath before we do anything else,” she protested.  
”Why bathe when you're not dirty?”  
”I _am_ dirty!”  
”Oho? Prove it,” Graznikh said with a mischievous leer. He chuckled at her confused expression.  
”Ya don't _look_ dirty,” Sulmurz said as he helped pull her tunic off with one hand and eyed her naked backside hungrily. ”She look dirty to ya?”  
”Nar, don't think so,” Graznikh replied. ”Bit o' a waste o' water, bathing for no reason.”  
”And how would you solve this little predicament?” Záhovar asked hotly.   
Graznikh and Sulmurz shared a leering glance. ”Well, that answer's easy enough, innit?” Záhovar gasped as Graznikh licked her neck and clawed, calloused hands began to grope and fondle.  
”We'll fuck ya proper,” Sulmurz growled. ”That'll soil ya for sure!”  
”Early bedtime, then?”  
”Who said anything 'bout a bed?” Graznikh kicked her legs out from underneath her and caught her as she fell. Moments later, they had her trapped on the blanket-covered floor.  
”So you like fucking Orcs, do ya?” Graznikh purred as he crawled down between her legs. ”You're nasty, ya know that?”  
”Whaddya doin'?” Sulmurz asked him.  
”Just teasing her,” Graznikh leered and tentatively ran a finger over her most sensitive, eliciting a little whimper. ”I told ya, I'm not much for rushing things. Let's make her beg for it first!” Then he lowered his head again with a purr. Záhovar soon arched her back, one hand reaching down to push his head closer, fingers tangling and tightening in his hair. Graznikh happily obliged and moved his tongue in tiny, circling motions, his purr deepening into that low, rumbling one that he knew she enjoyed so much.  
At first, Sulmurz felt completely malplaced. He had no idea what Graznikh was doing to make he look, sound and smell like that, and he could not figure out what to do or indeed if he should do _anything_. What if he ruined the whole thing? But then Záhovar, perhaps unconsciously, took his hand in hers and he remembered what to do. He leered as he sat up, grabbed one of her breasts and pushed her firmly down onto the floor.  
”I see one what's gonna get pummelled senseless later,” he purred and began to lick her breasts.

Their two-pronged assault was too much for Záhovar to handle; her body spun out of her control and everything suddenly felt so _good..._ Then Graznikh stopped and barked for Sulmurz to do the same. It took Záhovar a moment to register the interruption and another for her to catch her breath. ”Why did you..?”  
”D'you wanna get fucked?” Graznikh asked with a leer.  
”Is this why..? How _dare_ you to-!”  
Graznikh shoved Sulmurz out of the way and grabbed her by the neck. ”D'you want us to fuck ya?!” he snarled.  
”Yes!!” Záhovar shouted back and moaned when she was rewarded with a rub by the blunt side of a claw. Graznikh grinned.  
”Good! Then let's get to it... _after_ we're done here.” He nodded for Sulmurz to get back and returned to his previous position. Záhovar felt clawed fingers enter her and she forced her hips to remain still not to cut herself on them; this gave Graznikh a chance to focus on just the right spot and scissor his fingers rapidly against it. Záhovar grabbed the nearest pillow and pressed it to her mouth as she came hard, her muffled cry accompanied by the eager growls of two excited Orcs.  
Sulmurz wiped slaver off his chin with a shaking fist. He reached for her naked leg but a warning growl made him back off with a needy whine.  
Graznikh chuckled hoarsely and nodded. ”Just making sure who's in charge. Go on then, have at her. Give her some!”  
Sulmurz needed no further urging. Záhovar had just returned to her senses when she was flipped over and her knees were roughly pushed apart. Then he grabbed her hips, but cried out as his injured shoulder reminded him of its existence. ”Skai, I can't fuck like this! Bagshatîgaturz sha!”  
”Roll over then,” Graznikh said.   
Sulmurz grinned and obeyed. ”Just, err... No touchies, alright? That doesn't quite work for me.”   
Graznikh nodded as Záhovar used him to steady herself as she straddled Sulmurz's hips. ”Don't worry, I'm not touching your tosser.”  
”Who the fuck're ya callin' to-uuurgh!” Sulmurz's protest turned into a gurgle as Záhovar lowered herself onto his cock. ”I was right!” he groaned with a big grin.  
Záhovar glanced back over her shoulder and gave him a seductive leer. ”How so?”  
”Ya _do_ know how to handle a guy!” Záhovar laughed in response and continued riding him. Too slow for Sulmurz's taste; every now and then he thrust back, making her squeak and gasp as his crotch unexpectedly came up to meet her. Suddenly he could not resist anymore and took her hips in a vicelike grip. Záhovar leaned back with a moan as he took over, her little nails digging into his chest but unable to pierce the thick hide. For a moment there was nothing else; nothing but the scent of sweat and rut, nothing but pleasure, keening moans and grunts and the slapping of skin against skin.   
A warm tongue began to dance across Záhovar's skin and her moans grew more desperate. But the pleasure soon stopped as Sulmurz discovered Graznikh's doings and kicked him away with a terrified yelp.  
”What in the name o' the bleeding Eye is wrong with ya?!” Graznikh growled as he sat back up.  
”No touchies!!”  
”Get over it, I wasn't even close to your balls!”  
”If the two of you intend to argue this out, I will go and sate myself with one of the Uruks instead!” Záhovar snapped.  
”Like fuck you are!” both Orcs snarled back. Then they gave each other a sheepish glance. Záhovar could not help but laugh softly at them, then it was her turn to yelp as Sulmurz suddenly pulled her back down.  
”Let's get back business, shall we?” he purred, to which Graznikh agreed. After a minor change of position, they found one that kept everything on the comfortable side and Záhovar was soon forced to surrender control once more.  
  
  
Praktash used to be afraid of water. There were no large bodies of water in the northern Black Land and in Lugburz proper the only open water were the little puddles left in the streets by rare rain and that which was brought up from deep below the earth by the steam pumps. He had never seen anything larger than a street puddle before he got to know Záhovar and was introduced to the large wash basin in her bath room. But after watching Záhovar swim underwater the first time, he had been hell bent on doing the same. Back then it had been out of rivalry; he refused to let an Officer go where he dared not and spite had proved a powerful motivator, but later on he had learned to enjoy the feeling of being submerged and the near weightless sensation that the water gave... at least as long as he had a firm grip on the edge of the basin.  
Once he got over the initial shock of water rushing in from all sides, Praktash decided to play a prank. There was no way he would be able to swim in full armour, but the pond was not very deep; if he stood up, the water would probably reach no higher than his chest. He relaxed and let himself slowly sink to the bottom. He could hear muffled voices through the water but could not see what was going on since his eyes were closed. Then there was a dull splash, someone grabbed his arm and he shot out of the water. He hit the ground hard and rolled twice before stopping. Before he could get to his feet, Margzat pulled him up and began shaking him.  
”Breathe!” he snarled. ” _Breathe,_ ya little fuck!!”  
”I _am_ breathin',” Praktash gasped. ”Quit shakin' me or I'mma puke in your face!”  
Margzat stopped shaking him but did not let go. ”Don'tcha ever fuckin' do 'at again, ya hear me?!”  
” _You_ pushed me in!” Praktash angrily replied. ”An' in full armour, what he fuck did you expect?!” He sneezed hard and sprayed water and snot all over his legs. ”Now I bloody expect ya to take my equipment care duties tomorrow! You soaked my armour, _you_ deal with the rust!”  
”I'm thinkin' it's yer own fault for wearin' it in here,” Margzat murmured and grinned at Praktash's furious hiss. ”Why did ya gear up anyway? We're not goin' anywhere.”  
” _You're_ not goin'. I, on the other hand, got privileges.”  
”I heard no 'except Praktash' when she gave the order to stick together,” Ghrazagh pointed out.  
Praktash rolled his eyes. ”That's because you never listen when it's not about the three F's.”  
”The what?”  
”Fightin', fuckin' or food.”  
”What else is there?”  
”You forgot booze, you lackwit.”  
”There's no 'fff' in that.”  
”That's not what I-”  
”I'm thinkin' there's a whole lotta 'fff' in ya,” Margzat chuckled as he took a step closer.  
”In me?” Praktash gave him a suspicious look. ”What're ya playin' at?”  
”Fffinicky,” Margzat said while taking another step.  
”What?!” Praktash exclaimed. ”I'm _not-_ ”  
”Fffidgetin'.” Praktash huffed as the other Uruks began to snicker.  
”Fffeisty,” Margzat continued, his leer growing wider.  
”Fffuck you!”  
”Fffiery...”  
”You know so many hard words!”  
”Fugly.” Margzat and Praktash both turned to look at Golnauk. ”What?” Golnauk asked.  
”That's not even a word,” Praktash replied.  
”Sure is. It's 'fucking ugly' put together.”  
”Why not just say 'fuckin' ugly'?”  
”Then it wouldn't be a word, would it?”  
”But... but... Oh, fuck off!” Praktash chuckled. He backed away from the advancing Margzat but stumbled on the uneven bottom and would have fallen, had he not been caught from behind. Margzat's grin disappeared in an instant.  
  
  
Once Sulmurz collapsed, Graznikh grabbed his prize and pulled her off him.  
”I wasn't done!” Sulmurz protested.  
”We're taking turns, remember? You'll get another when I've had one.”  
”Have I no say in this?” Záhovar asked curtly.  
”Sure ya do.” Graznikh gave her a saintly smile. ”What's yer say?”  
She smirked teasingly. ”That he gets every turn and you get none.”  
Sulmurz's eyes widened. Graznikh did not reply; his jaws worked hard and his nostrils flared as the smile disappeared from his face.  
”Or,” Záhovar added after a moment, ”perhaps I could give you a turn or two after all... For pity's sake.”  
Graznikh remained silent for a while, but then his face cracked up in a savage leer. ”Pity?” He yanked her hips closer, shoved a knee between her legs and split them apart with his own. A few hard prods later he buried himself inside her from behind, grinding his hips against her a little before he began to thrust. ”Pity, is it? I'll give ya pity, ya shit-mouthed little slut!!”  
Sulmurz watched the spectacle with wide eyes. _That guy fucks like a bloody woodpecker!_ It all looked so good; the way his claws drew fine, red lines upon her skin, not quite deep enough to send the blood running; the way her hands clutched the fabric of the pillow, as if she could not decide whether to push back against the onslaught or try to pull away. The way her face contorted as he picked up the pace even more...

It did not take Graznikh long to spunk. Since Záhovar had not, he continued to thrust a little despite Sulmurz's protests but eventually he had to give up. Sulmurz was smart enough not to comment on it as he took his place.  
”That's a nice one,” Graznikh commented with a leer as he watched him maneuver her into that position which she had enjoyed so the first time they coupled.   
”Uh-huh,” Sulmurz replied and gave her leg a fond squeeze with his hale hand. ”Might as well make use o' all this nimbleness. An' listen to this!”  
Záhovar could not help but moan as she felt him move inside. She had been so close with Graznikh and this slow massage was almost torture.   
Graznikh chuckled as he crawled up close behind. ”No use in wearing ya out all in one go,” he purred into her ear. ”We're not done with ya yet, just you wait...”  
Eventually she could no longer stand it. ”Harder!”  
”Aye, master,” Sulmurz purred and Záhovar cried out as he obliged. How she had missed this! Graznikh licked her neck roughly with a low, possessive growl while Sulmurz leaned close on her other side and caught the nape of her neck with his fangs. Their calloused hands pawed her, savage and eager, only barely remaining on this side of harming her. All the while the thick, heady musk that was male Orc filled her nostrils with every desperate gasp.   
Graznikh started a little when he felt her hand on his cock. ”Skai, you've bloody tamed her!”  
”Shaddap,” Sulmurz grunted and gave her a vicious leer. ”Harder?” Záhovar nodded and buried her face against Graznikh's neck as he complied. It was too much, this overwhelming abandon; one slow flick of a black tongue across one of her nipples was enough to push her over the edge.

They continued taking turns. When Graznikh crawled onto her a third time, she weakly tried to push him off.  
”Please,” she pleaded, ”I cannot take anymore!”  
”Worn ya out, have we?” he chuckled. ”I'm of a mind to test your limits... But I suppose you need some strength to walk outta here too.” He released her and began instead to tug his cock while eagerly eyeing her body. Soon his hot black seed spattered onto her hip and the side of her waist. Sulmurz followed his example and added some of his own onto her back and the back of her neck. Then they spread it out all over her torso and upper arms and legs.  
”There were go,” Graznikh chirped when they were done. ”Painted and pretty!”  
”You truly have your work cut out for you,” Záhovar murmured. Graznikh only chuckled and threw himself down on the pillow beside her.  
”No point in washin' if there's no tellin' if ye're clean after,” Sulmurz snickered as he joined them. Then he let out an involuntary sound as Záhovar backed up against him. ”Skai, ye're sticky!”  
”Through no fault of my own,” she pointed out.  
”Soon you'll begin to tell us to sleep on the wet spot too,” Graznikh snickered.  
She gave him a mischievous look. ”Have you not always?”  
Graznikh grumbled something incoherent and made Sulmurz laugh. The laughter died in his throat, however, when he noticed his sly expression.  
”That's right,” Graznikh murmured. ” _You're_ not Lug-snaga.”  
”Soon to be!” Sulmurz croaked.  
” _You_ hafta obey me.”  
”We're pals, remember?”  
” _You_ get to lie on the wet spot!”  
”Oh, come _onnn_!!”

  
Praktash started. From out of nowhere, Mûrnaluzh had caught him in a bear hug. Praktash began to fight back but froze when he felt the other Uruk's teeth lock around his neck; one bite there could sever his spine.  
”Don'tcha fuckin' dare,” Margzat growled, but Mûrnaluzh only gave him an amused glance as he pushed Praktash down over the pond's edge. _Is he gonna..?_  
”You wanna live the rest of your life with your fangs on my neck?” Praktash snarled. ”Go on with this shit an' I'll kill ya the moment you let go!”  
”Get in line,” Margzat growled. He did not interfere though; even though Mûrnaluzh would get killed for sure if he killed or harmed Praktash, Margzat could not be sure that his rival would not make the sacrifice.   
”Hey, Mûrna?” Lîrnash called and threw him a little jar that Praktash immediately recognised. ”Use lube. You'll thank me for it.” Mûrnaluzh grinned against Praktash's neck as he caught it.   
Praktash considered calling for Záhovar as he felt Margzat's rival rip his loincloth off, but something held him back. _Both Lîrnash an' Drauma's been through this,_ he thought. _They didn't shout for help, they knew it wouldn't come. If I call it might come, but I'd be a bigger coward than they. It's just Mûrna; I can do this!_ He set his jaw in determination as Mûrnaluzh forced a clawed finger into his rear. Thankfully it did not tear him, but it was not pleasant either. Praktash did not mind; he refused to enjoy this and hoped it would be over quick.  
Margzat glared at his rival, but held himself back. He was a little impressed with Praktash; judging by how touchy his redhead could be at times, he had expected him to freak out and do something stupid. But Praktash knew when he was overcome and submitted readily. He met Margzat's eyes briefly before he closed his own, and that brief look seemed to say 'don't worry, I've got this'.  
Praktash forced himself to stay silent as Mûrnaluzh entered. _What the fuck is that feelin'? It's like he's got lumps or warts on his... Oh, fuck!_ ”If I get sick from this, I'll tear your fuckin' dick off!!”  
”Dun' worry,” Golnauk guffawed. ”He won't pass it on.”  
”How would _you_ know?” Draumaturz asked.  
Golnauk shrugged. ”Take it where ya get it. I'm too old to care.”  
”But _he's_ not!”  
”If you're gonna do this, how 'bout lettin' go o' my neck?” Praktash asked. ”I'm kinda fond of that part. Just do your thing, I won't fight ya.” He did not need to see Mûrnaluzh's face; he could feel his victorious grin. He exchanged a glance with Draumaturz, who lay on his belly on the floor nearby and watched him with a horny leer. He snickered as Praktash rolled his eyes with a bored expression. Then Mûrnaluzh let go of his neck and sunk his fangs into his shoulder instead, and Praktash let out a roar of pain. He frantically tried to shake him off but Mûrnaluzh held fast with teeth and claws, and soon the extraordinarily painful tugs he gave him forced Praktash to relent. Mûrnaluzh pinned him down once more.  
”The fuck're ya doing out there?!” came a growl from within the bedroom.  
”Fucking,” Urkhish roared back.  
”Good! Have fun.”  
”Time to pay ya back for th' Desolation,” Mûrnaluzh growled into Praktash's flesh as he forced himself on him. Praktash stifled a pained whimper, swallowed hard and prepared for a rough ride. Warm blood trickled down his back and over his shoulder. But as Mûrnaluzh began to thrust, deep and slow, he had to stifle an involuntary moan instead. Those gross warts rubbed his insides in all the right places and Praktash felt his resolve slip little by little. _I don't wanna feel good from this! Not with_ him _! Focus... Fuck..! Think of... Think of Lugburz. Nar, not big hard towers! Think of... Blog Shakâmb! Or the Trench, or... fuck, oh fuck fuck fuuuck!!  
_ ”Ya gonna let him do that?” Ghrazagh asked Margzat.   
Margzat shrugged. ”If it'll make that schemin' bastard calm down a li'l, I won't stop him. Bukrazikh's a tough one; he can handle it.”  
”I'd say he's doin' a little more than just handling it,” Golnauk commented with a meaning look at Praktash, who was desperately pretending not to enjoy the unwanted attentions.  
”You're a snaga,” Mûrnaluzh whispered hoarsely. ”You'll bend over for anyone with a cock, won'tcha?”  
”Obviously,” Praktash moaned. ”Ruttin' _you_ 's gotta be my new low!”  
”I might believe ya,” Mûrnaluzh groaned into his flesh, ”if ya don't spunk before I do!”  
”Way behind ya,” Praktash growled. ”I'm limp as a boned f-uuhh... Fish!”  
Mûrnaluzh only laughed as he wrapped a hand around his cock. His act had little to do with pleasure; Margzat's rival had never shown any signs of genuine interest towards him. This was all about forcing him into submission and proving to the others that he was the stronger one. Praktash gritted his teeth and breathed heavily through his nose; the obscene massage was rapidly bringing him to completion. Just as he began to gasp and his nether regions tightened before the release, Mûrnaluzh leaned in close to his ear, his whisper barely audible against the skin behind it. ”You'll never be free of Blog Shakâmb! Khayri...”  
Praktash howled, and not only because he climaxed. Mûrnaluzh nipped the sensitive skin behind his ear, bucking hard and digging his claws into his hips.  
  
The moment Mûrnaluzh pulled out, Margzat was upon him, tearing him away by burying his claws into his rival's back. The bellows and roars echoed throughout the garden as the two Uruks tore into each other, but Margzat soon had backup and Mûrnaluzh had to back down. The krîtar let Urkhish and Draumaturz chase him up the stairs like hounds at the heels of a deer before calling them back.  
Praktash could not move. His spinal muscles had locked up in a 'fight or flight'-response and he felt as though he had become paralyzed. He could not lift a finger to resist as Lîrnash, seeing an opportunity now that the krîtar was occupied, took Mûrnaluzh's place. Could not even flinch as the other Uruk slapped his cock against his soiled arse with a splat. Just as Lîrnash positioned himself for the entry, Margzat spotted him and began to advance with a thundering growl. Lîrnash immediately backed off, but Margzat did not help Praktash up. Instead, he took Lîrnash's place.  
”Gotta stake my claim,” he murmured. ”Keep the others off ya. Ya alright?”  
”Just get it done,” Praktash whispered back. Most of all he just wanted to cry, but he faked ecstasy as Margzat 'staked' him with loud, rapt grunts. Despite it all he managed to spunk a second time, but there was little pleasure involved. Margzat seemed to enjoy himself though; he thrust until Praktash felt completely done in below his waist and came an impressive five times before the ordeal was over.   
Lîrnash and the others were eagerly waiting for their turn, but Margzat growled at them to go play with their own dicks if they were that needy. Meanwhile, Praktash got up with some effort. As he did so, he noticed quite a few tears that stung badly. _I really need to ask Graznikh for some help with this later. Ow..! Fuck you Mûrna, fuck you! Just you wait; I'mma get back at ya for this, when least you bloody expect it! This is war!_  
”Bukrazikh?” Praktash was so busy seething that he had forgotten about Margzat; now he jumped a little as the krîtar spoke. Margzat grinned a little. ”Ya pissed at me too now?”  
Praktash shrugged. ”I'm kinda glad you're not Garmadh.”  
”Why's 'at?”  
”Imagine havin' that sorry excuse for a face bobbin' over your shoulder durin'...”  
Margzat looked away with a grimace that might have been a grin if he had not looked so embarrassed.   
Praktash gave him a look of weary disbelief. ”You didn't.”  
”Well...”  
”You _didn't!_ ”  
Margzat chuckled. ”T'was a rough ride.”  
Praktash sighed. ”Now I _really_ need a bath.” He looked for his soap, brush and towel, only to remember that he had dropped them into the water when he fell. He sighed again and began to unbuckle his wet armour. After emptying his boots and tossing them into the same pile as the rest, he carefully rinsed his backside of the residue of the assault. Then he climbed out of the water and gingerly sat down on the edge of the pool.  
”Roughed ya up, did I?” Margzat asked quietly.  
Praktash feigned indifference. ”You might've, if it had been the first time.” He stiffened a little as the krîtar closed in behind him, but a quick glance over his shoulder revealed that Margzat was only lathering his brush. Then he held it out towards him. Praktash took a look around; Lîrnash was scrubbing Ghrazagh's back while being served in a similar fashion by Golnauk; Draumaturz was doing the same to Urkhish. After a moment's hesitation, Praktash turned and tried to take the brush. He frowned and gave Margzat a quizzical glance when the krîtar held it fast.  
”I'll do yers first,” Margzat murmured. Praktash stared at him briefly before turning around and pulling his hair over his shoulder.   
Margzat's gesture would have had huge significance had they been in a larger group where everyone did not know each other. A krîtar offering this kind of service to an unranked Uruk without being serviced first, be he Lug-snaga or no, would be perceived as either an act of weakness or great honour. They were not in such a group now, but the knowledge of how it might have been seen was enough to force the tears up despite his struggle to contain them. Praktash quickly bowed his head and let the drops from his soaked hair trickle down his face, hoping that it would mask where most of the water really came from.  
The others had already forgotten the event; Urkhish and Draumaturz kept shoving each other into the waterfall, jokingly at first but as spirits grew they became more and more violent. Eventually Golnauk and Lîrnash jumped in to break up the fight but got involved in it instead.

  
By the time Záhovar, Graznikh and Sulmurz returned to the garden, the pond was the scene of a raucous water battle. The once clear water was muddy and brown and all that was left of the water lilies were a few stray petals. The flower beds surrounding the pond were trampled to mud and the beautiful mosaic edge of the pond was soiled and broken in places.  
”First the furniture, now the garden. It is fascinating how fast you manage to turn every place we visit into a bleak copy of Lugburz,” Záhovar commented.  
”No place like home,” Draumaturz chuckled.  
”'S a bit like bein' back in boot camp,” Margzat grinned.   
”Ye're not old enough to get all misty-eyed o'er that,” Golnauk grunted as he climbed out of the water.  
”Nar? Then why didn'tcha bring it up yerself, ushatârkû?”  
”Perhaps I should let the pups play in peace and return later?” Záhovar mused. Margzat took the hint and barked for the 'pups' to leave the pond to the Officer.   
Praktash snapped his fangs at her with a playful growl. ”Hi master! Come to join us at last?” Then he took a closer look at her black-stained body and his face fell. ”What the fuck happened to _you_?”  
”Pre-bath skin lotion,” Záhovar replied with a perfectly innocent face. ”Soap can be drying, or so I have heard. It is important to keep your skin hydrated while washing.”  
”Well, it's good you have such loyal snaga then,” Praktash said with a wry smile. ”Always eager to cover ya in... 'lotion'... whenever you need it.”  
”Indeed. How they suffer for my well-being.”  
”Want me to put some salve on those scratches later?”  
”If you wish.”  
”Oh for fuck's sake,” Sulmurz muttered as he eyed the turbid water. ”What'd they do, shit in it? We actually gonna let her bathe in _that_?”  
” _Let_ me?” Sulmurz swallowed hard and met Záhovar's cold eyes with a look of pure terror as he realised his mistake.  
”I'll have you know,” she continued, ”that despite my previous display I am _not_ some delicate little water-lily that will wilt at the first stain. If I was, I would have done so after the very first night in your company! I have been in far filthier circumstances than this, and my 'boot-camp' was just as arduous as anything these Uruks have gone through.”  
”If half o' what I've heard 's true, I'm thinkin' it was worse,” Margzat rumbled. Now it was his time to wilt as Záhovar turned to him with a wry smirk.  
”I am most interested in hearing what you have 'heard' at a later date, krîtar. For now, I intend to get as clean as is possible in this pond.” With that, she jumped in and disappeared beneath the surface with a splash. The pond was deep enough to reach Margzat to the chest if he stood in the middle, and the other Uruks had stayed near the shallow edges not to become submerged; none of them knew how to swim and chances were that they would not do a very good job of it even if they did. When Záhovar dove in, many of them held their breaths. One by one, they had to give up and breathe again; Graznikh began to cold sweat and by the time Záhovar reappeared beneath the little waterfall, Praktash was the only one still holding his breath and looking completely unphased about it.  
”That was bloody impressive!” he said with a grin. ”I didn't know you could hold your breath that long. What other skills've you kept from us all this time?” He laughed when Záhovar only gave him an eerie little smile. ”Alright then, keep your secrets! I'll have ya know, Lugburz was bloody dull before you came along.”  
”Well, I'm glad you've changed your mind about Officers,” Graznikh chuckled. ”Meanwhile, the snaga wait patiently...” Sulmurz murmured.  
”Are you telling me to hurry up?” Záhovar asked while swimming over to Praktash, who lifted her out of the water and let her straddle his lap.  
”Wouldn't dream o' it,” Graznikh replied. ”Mind if I scrub off in the meantime?”  
”That would be much appreciated."

Despite his cheerful mask, Praktash still felt like shit. He had been used, humiliated and reminded of the last place he wanted to think about during a fuck, and he felt as though he would soon explode if he did not vent. And now the perfect target was right before him.  
”Oh, Sullyyy,” he purred. ”What _are_ ya lookin' at, her arse or my cock? I can't really tell.”  
”Fuck off,” Sulmurz muttered and turned away with darkening cheeks. He threw his towel near where Graznikh had dropped his and sat down to clean himself, making sure that Graznikh's body blocked him from the Uruk's view.  
”You really gonna wash with your pants on? Sully, what'd I tell ya about that? You'll get... Oh.” Praktash's eyes widened and he threw Záhovar a jokingly frightened look. ”Oh, I almost... Sorry Sully, I didn't mean that. But don't worry; I won't tell her!”  
Záhovar arched an eyebrow. ”Tell me what?”  
Graznikh threw Sulmurz a calculating look; he was seething and glaring at Praktash as if he could somehow kill him with his eyes, but he made no move to do so in any other way. _He's sinking like a stone,_ Graznikh thought as Praktash began to whisper in Záhovar's ear. _If he don't start answering these jibes and show some balls, not even Mikbork'll listen to him anymore. Is it because Záhovar's in the way? Or is he really this big a coward?_  
”I fucking _hate_ you,” Sulmurz growled. Praktash wrinkled his nose at him, but did not bare his fangs. Several of the Uruks snickered; for them, Praktash's little act spoke plainly of superiority so great that he did not even see fit to threaten properly.  
”Prove it,” Praktash purred. ”Come little snaga; let's tumble, see who comes out on top.”  
Záhovar watched the exchange with narrowed eyes. She was clearly displeased with the way things were going and Graznikh was certain that she would intervene at some point. But for the time being, she remained silent and left Praktash's lap when he made a move to get up. He threw her a friendly smile that soon turned into a demented leer as he ate Sulmurz up with his eyes, leisurely fondling himself while he did so.  
Sulmurz rose as well and threw Praktash a disdainful look. ”I'm not that stupid,” he sneered. ”I'll just wait 'til ya sleep'n slit yer throat.”  
He only realised his mistake after he had spoken; he found himself facing not one but six angry Black Uruks as everyone who was able to get up shot up with bared fangs and furious growls. All except Mûrnaluzh, who kept watching the scene with an amused sneer from the stairs. Praktash pouted his lips and gave Sulmurz a mocking look of pity.  
”SILENCE!!” Záhovar shouted. Graznikh was a bit impressed that she did not even have to use sorcery to be heard over the Uruks' growls, and they all fell silent at her command and backed away as she claimed the space where Praktash had stood.  
”Sulmurz; leave. I will deal with you later.” She waited until he had disappeared into the bedroom before turning towards Praktash. The look in her eyes made Graznikh feel cold inside. ”I have given you ample opportunity to change your course,” she told Praktash with a hint of a hiss in her voice, ”yet you have doggedly refused to do so. You knew what the consequences would be-”  
”Oh come on, he fuckin' asked for it!” Praktash protested.  
”-and yet you persist,” Záhovar continued. ”You have repeatedly disobeyed my direct command, and-”  
”Master? A word, if ya please.”  
Záhovar spun to face Graznikh. ”You _dare_ to interrupt me?!”  
Graznikh almost lost his resolve as he got hit by a wave of dread. He knew it all too well from his and Záhovar's first time together after she was elevated, before she began to open up to him. Back then, she had used it as a weapon to try and force him to do as she pleased. Now it was far stronger but knowing what it was and that it was not part of him, not his own, true feelings, helped him resist and he held his ground both within and without.  
”Aye, I do. I'm gonna use my right to speak my mind. But not here.”  
”Your right to..!”  
”You remember that, don'tcha? Ya gave it to me, same as to him.” With a nod to the perplexed Praktash, Graznikh continued: ”Just hear me out, 's all I'm asking for. I might have a way o' solving this little situation without bloodshed'n broken minds. Less effort that way.” Then he decided to gamble and added: ”Just trust me. Alright?”  
  
Záhovar's mind was a cacophony of conflicting thoughts. She was a High Officer, that was all there was. She had been disobeyed, and the answer to disobedience was punishment, pain and fear. But... _'_ __The closer you let him, the more stable he will be. He will never betray you if you do. Let him teach you, if you wish.' I promised not to forget.  
”Very well,” she said at last and Graznikh let out a breath he had not even been aware of holding. ”Lead on.” Graznikh nodded as humbly as he could and met Praktash's eyes one last time before leaving.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...And then the fight started.


	15. Clash And Corner

Sulmurz eyed the edge of his scimitar. A few more flicks of the whetstone and the last notch was gone, the edge as sharp as could be. When he was satisfied, he put the whetstone back in his belt and weighed the weapon in his hand. It was a simple thing, just a narrow, triangular sheet of iron with a leatherwrapped handle and sharpened edge, massproduced in Udûn like most other weaponry out of Lugburz. The hole in the pommel had a simple leather tassle that he had forgotten why he put there in the first place. Sure, it was no custom-made Dwarven steel like the knives Graznikh wielded, but it was well-balanced, sharp and served its purpose just right. Briefly he imagined sinking it into the hated Uruk's entrails, but then he lowered it with a sigh. _No way's she ever gonna let me do that..._ Though he did not want to admit it, the image gave him no pleasure. He proceeded to stare into the cold fireplace.  
  
As Záhovar entered the bedroom with Graznikh in tow, Sulmurz looked up from his musings. Záhovar ignored them both and walked over to the table to pour herself a glass of wine. Then she turned to look out the window. ”You have as long as it takes me to drink this.”  
Graznikh knew that she could down the contents of that glass in one gulp if she wished; the amount of time he had depended entirely on whether his words pleased her or not. ”Look, I know you wanna protect him, but-”  
”This has nothing to do with protectiveness,” she said coolly, ”and everything to do with principles. He has the right to speak his mind, same as you. That does _not_ mean that he has the right to disregard my commands if they do not suit his tastes. He _will_ obey, whether of his own will or _mine._ ”  
”But _why_? Why does it matter?”  
” _Does_ it matter? Does it _have_ to matter? You are snaga; my word is law!”  
Záhovar met his eyes with an icy expression and Graznikh's heart sank. But then it struck him; _she doesn't remember why she gave that order, and now she's trying to cover that up by acting tough!_ ”This isn't the Záhovar I used to know.”  
”Perhaps it is the Záhovar you _should_ know?”  
”Nar, it isn't,” Graznikh replied. ”The Záhovar I used to know wanted to make a difference. She wanted to change Lugburz, or at least part o' it, make it better for us Orcs, guys'n gals alike. The Záhovar I used to know woulda never thrown compulsion around like a whip she just learned to use. And never against Praktash! Skai, he _trusts_ you! And I know he'd never say it out loud 'cause he doesn't know the word or what it means, but he loves ya! As do I.”  
There was a squawk from Sulmurz at those words, but Graznikh did not care. ”And for all his warnings'n visions I know he'd still do anything for ya. Don't drag all that into the dirt just 'cause he's an idiot at times. Things could be so much worse.”  
Záhovar frowned ever so slightly. ”Visions?”  
”Aye,” Graznikh replied. ”That thing ya did to his eyes. He still sees shit others can't. Wraiths, I'd wager. And _you._ ”  
_Me?_ ”And what does he see? What are those warnings you mentioned?”  
”Well...” Graznikh hesitated, but eventually decided to come clean. ”He says that you've changed. When he looks at ya now, he sees something else too, like a mirror image on top o' ya. Pale, paler than usual that is. Black hair, red eyes... Bleeds black at the throat where the Eye cut ya.” he frowned. ”Záhovar?”  
Záhovar had begun to tremble as he spoke and now the goblet slipped from her grasp. It only bounced thanks to the thick carpet, but her leg and foot were stained red by the wine. Záhovar did not sem to notice; she was staring with wide, frightened eyes at some spot on the floor and did not react when Graznikh spoke her name.  
”Âmbal? What's wrong?”  
”Maybe the fact that ya just told some creepy shit what we don't even know is true?” Sulmurz suggested.  
”Shut up snaga, I'm not done with you yet!” Graznikh snarled.  
”Do as he says,” Záhovar murmured absently as Sulmurz began to protest. She twitched a little when Graznikh stepped closer. ”Is that truly what he sees?”  
”That's what he says, at any rate,” Graznikh replied softly. ”What of it?”  
”That is what _I_ see... Every time I look in a mirror. I have done so ever since my elevation.”  
”Izzat why ya had all the mirrors covered in your quarters?” Graznikh muttered a curse when she nodded. ”I thought it was because o' him... Never figured it had anything to do with you. What the fuck is going on here?!”  
”I am fading,” she whispered. Then she frowned and continued, a little louder: ”No. I am changing, but for better or for worse, I cannot say. It has been... difficult to think. I do not feel as much as I used to be able to. It is as though pieces of me are missing.”  
”Well, I know that feeling alright,” Graznikh murmured.  
”Is this why you wanted to speak with me?”  
”Nar, I wanted to discuss that twitchy little shit over there.” He nodded at Sulmurz.  
”Excuse the fuck outta me?!” Sulmurz snarled.  
”Nar, I won't,” Graznikh growled back. ”And didn't we just tell ya to shut the fuck up?”  
”Perhaps my earlier reaction was... disproportionate,” Záhovar said. ”But how do you suggest we proceed to solve this?”  
”Ya don't say... The easiest way would be to just let Praktash have his way. _But,_ ” he held up a warning finger as Sulmurz inhaled for the shout, ”obviously that won't solve much except maybe slake his frustration.”  
”And it would make me seem indecisive,” Záhovar pointed out.  
”So? You're an Officer, you can be as indecisive as ya wanna. But that's beside the point. What makes me fester is this.” He turned towards Sulmurz with a suspicious glare. ”What the _fuck_ are you hiding?!”  
  
Sulmurz perked up with a confused expression. ”Whut?”  
”You heard me,” Graznikh growled as he advanced on him. ”You're hiding something, and I wanna know what that is!”  
”Izzit so bloody hard to wrap yer head 'round the fact that I don't want an Uruk's cock up my arse?!” Sulmurz asked hotly as he got up.  
”Yeah, it is,” Graznikh replied. ”See; I've known a whole lot'a guys. Some were into cock, others weren't. But even those who really weren't never acted it out the way you do. Sure, they didn't get hard, didn't enjoy it, but if a bigger guy came by and wanted a quick rut they bent over, bit the gauntlet and then shut up about it after. _You_ keep acting like a snaga while trying to squirm your way outta it at the same time. That's _queer._ It's not normal, and it makes me wonder what ye're playin' at. And I'm not alone, nor is Praktash. Everyone out there is wondering the same right now, and that spells trouble for ya. You know how Uruks are.”  
Sulmurz began to tremble.  
”So I'm pretty bloody sure you're hiding something from us,” Graznikh continued, ”and if you don't start talking, _I_ might bloody well be the one to break ya in! And trust me; you'd like that even less than you like Praktash.” He held up his hands and showed Sulmurz the sharp, black claws that adorned each fingertip. Sulmurz stared at him while a new kind of horror dawned on him. He bolted for the door and almost reached it before Graznikh caught him. He used Sulmurz's weight as leverage as he spun him around and threw him back into the room. Sulmurz rolled twice before stopping at Záhovar's feet.  
”Nice try,” Graznikh commented dryly.  
”Do you want to be Lug-snaga?” Záhovar asked. Sulmurz nodded meekly. ”Then you cannot run from every perceived threat. I cannot have a coward for a Lug-snaga; I must be able to... _trust_ that you will carry out whatever tasks I tell you to perform.”  
”Besides, how low will that prissiness take ya?” Graznikh added. ”Will you spill the tokens 'bout every little secret of ours if someone waves a cock in yer face?”  
”Knowledge is dangerous,” Záhovar said as Sulmurz protested weakly. ”What you heard in this room is reason enough to kill you, even if you do not turn traitor. That is the choice before you; speak and remain loyal or take your secrets down into an early grave.”  
”Or the cooking pots,” Graznikh added. ”We could always torture the secrets outta ya; I hear that makes the meat more tender.”  
”Nar, nar! I'll talk! Shit... I'll talk.” He threw Záhovar a pleading look. ”Could, uh... Could he..?”  
”Could I what?”  
”Leave us,” Záhovar said without taking her eyes off Sulmurz.  
Graznikh rolled his eyes. ”Alright... I'll be outside if... Whatever.”  
  
Sulmurz sighed as he got up from the floor and shook himself. ”I, uh... I wasn't completely honest with ya back when ya asked where I came from. Haven't been with anyone, really.” He withered a little under Záhovar's cold gaze. ”'S nothing big!”  
”If it was not so, you would not have gone to such lengths to keep it hidden.”  
Sulmurz swallowed hard. ”I'm from the East, didn't lie there. But... I wasn't raised in a stronghold.” He hesitated a little, but swallowed again and continued when Záhovar tapped her foot impatiently.  
”Didn't grow up 'mong Orcs at all. I dunno who my real mum was, or what happened to her. Those I called 'parents' weren't too eager to speak 'bout that part. Probably 'cause they had a hand in her death an' me bein' where I was, but I dunno for sure.”  
”'Parents' is a word most often used by Men,” Záhovar remarked.  
Sulmurz nodded. ”I was just a little cub when my... 'parents' found me. Merchants, living in a tark colony beyond Khand somewhere. They took me in, fed me, clothed me, all that shit.”  
Bitterness crept into his voice and he snorted. ”Every day I was told how bloody lucky I was. How I should be so fuckin' grateful for all they gave me, all the effort'n resources spent. They had this idea that Orcs were 'corrupted', y'see, but that the 'corruption' could be 'cured' through a 'proper upbringing' and 'education'. Oh, I got educated alright. They taught me how to read, write, count, all the stuff pampered little Numenorean brats need to know to be something. They told me all 'bout Orcs, how 'my kind' were nothin' but savage, evil beasts that they 'saved' me from an' how bloody grateful I should be for it.”  
”You do not sound like one raised by tarks. Should you not have an accent?”  
”I picked up another when I got outta there.” He punched the wall with a frustrated growl. ”They made sure I never growled or howled, taught me with th' rod how to speak 'properly' and had my claws ground down to nothin' like that Uruk's. They tried to do it with my fangs too, 'at's why one of 'em's shorter than the rest. But I fought too hard, it hurt so bad, so they stopped tryin'.”  
As he sat down after Záhovar invited him to do so, the anger in his face faded and was replaced by shame. ”I got dressed up in fancy clothes and ate food fit for a Top One, but I wasn't ever really a part o' their pretty little world. I was just a fancy pet they could show off to their equally fancy friends. They had me recite poetry at parties, or blew out all the candles and had me pour 'em wine just to show off the fact that I could see in the dark, shit like that, perform like a bloody trained monkey.  
They had kids o' their own too, many years my elders but I outgrew 'em. Bet they didn't expect that. But while they became grownups, my 'parents' kept treating me like a cub. They got all I wanted; my 'brother' got to play with swords'n bows'n shit, I wasn't let near anything sharper than a pen.” He flashed a grin. ”There was this fancy, exotic songbird in our house. Real expensive, bloody noisy piece o' shit. I hated the darn thing, my room was right next to where the cage was an' it kept chirping an' garbling whenever I tried to sleep. So one day I took a pen an' stabbed it to death. Ya shoulda seen their fuckin' faces!” He laughed out loud. ”There I was, broken pen in hand, an' the bird... well, there wasn't much bird left. Bright yellow feathers everywhere! I got the rod for it, o' course, and an earful worse'n I'd ever had before.”  
  
Then he grew sombre again. ”It just got worse the older I got. My so-called brother could get as drunk as he wanted on whatever he wanted, but I was only allowed a sip o' watered-down wine every now and then. He got his own teacher for swordfightin', could go to parties'n hunts'n stuff like 'at. Could fuck as many girls as he wanted to. I wasn't ever allowed to do any o' that; mustn't 'feed the Orc' in me. Mustn't forget what I really was now.”  
He snorted. ”I wanted to hate him for it, but he never took advantage. Sha... I got to borrow his practice sword whenever our parents were away an' he gave me some lessons. But Numenorean fencing wasn't meant for Orcs; I never managed to pull off all 'at fine footwork'n shit. 'Course, somebody snitched. T'was the only time I heard mother shout at him.” He gave Záhovar a mirthless, wicked leer. ”He did that kinda shit all the time. Bloody kid was wilder than me; he was pullin' wings off flies and stomping crickets to death as soon as he could catch 'em. Even set a rat on fire once, watched it run about the courtyard 'til it dropped. I sat on the balcony'n watched the whole thing. But he was always just 'fierce' an' 'brave'; I was a lunatic if I ever tried any o' that.”  
”Did you ever ask why?” Záhovar asked.  
”Sure did. I wasn't allowed to 'cause I had a 'reputation to uphold'. I had to prove to all the other fancy bastards in that colony that 'not all Orcs' or something like that, as if I was personally responsible for all the shit Orcs everywhere had ever done. I had to be the 'perfect Orc' which meant I had to be better than the tarks at everything just to pass the test. But I never asked for that fuckin' test in the first place, an' when I _was_ better, they told me to 'tone it down' 'cause people got insulted.”  
”How did you get away?”  
He shrugged. ”I snapped. T'was long in the coming, I guess. My brother decided that if I was gonna be a Numenorean, I had to learn some proper 'Man-stuff'. So he took me to a whorehouse. 'Course, there were no whorehouses, not officially. The governor of the place was some crazy 'puritan' or whatever they call it; he had all the whorehouses'n alehouses'n gambling dens shut down. Everything fun was outlawed. So officially the place was a tea garden. But they had a very large cellar, an'... Yeah, ya get the point. Once there he pointed me to the cutest little blonde I'd ever seen, said he'd already paid for everything an' told me to have fun and fuck her gently.”  
”Did you even know how to? I cannot imagine your 'parents' explaining such things to you, with the mindset they had.”  
Sulmurz shook his head. ”Not a word. But my brother had, an' some of his friends. They talked real open about that, 'specially after a bottle or two. Told me all the juicy details 'til I was crosseyed an' crosslegged an' then they just laughed at me 'til my brother told 'em off. And my 'da' bred horses. Watched 'em do it a couple times, until he caught me watching and forbade me to look. So I knew what was comin' an' what I was supposed to do.”  
He leered at the memory. ”Woulda thought she'd be bloody terrified 'bout the whole deal, but turns out she wasn't. Not in the slightest. Turns out she volunteered for it. Even told me to my face that she didn't give a shit 'bout me; she just wanted the rep for bein' so bad she fucked an Orc. Guess she was tryin' to piss me off, but I just laughed. It felt so good to not get treated like a doll for once. She knew I was a beginner, so she showed me a few tricks first, get warmed up a little. She didn't wanna look at my face so she told me to do her from behind, an' I did. Skai, I did her! She kept squealing like a stuck pig throughout an' I was terrified someone upstairs would hear, so I covered her mouth with a hand and kept going. Skai, it felt so _fuckin'_ good!”  
Then he looked down with an embarrassed scowl. ”I didn't even notice... By the time I was done, she was dead. Choked. Guess I musta covered her nose with that hand as well. I didn't mean to kill her, t'was an accident! But there she was, dead an' gone...”  
Záhovar's face remained neutral. ”What happened then?”  
”Well, I didn't tell anyone! My brother was waiting for me upstairs when I came out an' we started walking home like nothing had happened. But I was so bloody scared o' what would happen when they found her, when he an' my parents found out... Our home was kinda close to the wall that surrounded the colony, an' when we were close enough I ran for it. Up the stairs to the top o' the wall, jumped down on the outside, broke my arm in the fall but that didn't stop me. T'was night so the archers couldn't hit me in the dark. Stupid fuckers had torches up on the wall, so they were pretty much blinded. I ran like crazy the whole night, long enough to give myself a decent headstart before the hunt began the next morning.”  
  
Sulmurz jumped a little when something touched his shoulder. He looked up in surprise as Záhovar offered him her drinking skin and took it with a grateful nod.  
”I was hunted like a boar for the better part of two moons,” he continued after taking a swig and handing it back. ”Riders, dogs, the whole lot. I killed the dogs and eventually I ran across a roving Orc band, just before the tarks got to me. They killed the hunters and... well...”  
”And how long have you been eavesdropping?”  
”Eaves..?” Sulmurz gave her a confused look, but Záhovar was not looking at him.  
”Long enough,” Graznikh grunted as he emerged from behind the door post.  
Sulmurz squeaked. ”Don't kill me!”  
Graznikh frowned. ”Now why'd I do that?”  
”'Cause... I'm a traitor half-tark?”  
”Fuck off,” he chuckled. ”If I killed every guy in this band with a weird background I'd have to start with myself, and then you'd get to keep all the fun to yourselves.” He sat down on the floor beside him. ”So what did that band ya joined do? Can't imagine it was an easy switch.”  
”The fuck d'ya _think_ they did? They just found a weird Orc dressed like a tark, stinking o' tark, speaking like a tark, bloody _moving_ like a tark!” He shook his head. ”They made me snaga quicker than I could think. Should be bloody grateful they didn't kill me after.”  
”But ya came through'n made it to Lugburz. That shows some backbone,” Graznikh said and Záhovar nodded. Sulmurz scowled to hide the grin that threatened to break out at the compliment.  
”Well... Can't say I've been through worse after that. I picked myself back up, an' the band hadn't taken everything from the dead tarks so I scavenged a bit. Figured that if I couldn't get along with tarks or Orcs I'd just hit it out alone instead. It felt good, bein' free to do whatever I wanted. Then shortly after, that band returned. Said they'd talked things over and decided to take me in.”  
Graznikh arched an eyebrow. ”Seriously?”  
Sulmurz grinned a little. ”Yeah, the gal-in-charge had taken a shine to my cock.”  
”Ah,” Graznikh commented with a knowing grin. ”Been there, got the marks to show for it.”  
Sulmurz snickered at that, but then he scowled. ”Didn't get many moons with 'em afore I started feeling this odd pull in my head. We all did. Like a hook goin' in through the eye an' holding onto the back o' yer skull...” He shuddered. ”Dragged us all the way to Lugburz. We got split up after that. I stopped at Morigost; that's where the pull ended. The rest ya already know.”  
”So what did those tarks call ya? Can't imagine they'd name ya 'Grumpy'.”  
Sulmurz let out a low growl. ”Does it matter?”  
Graznikh shrugged. ”Just curious. 'S not like I'm gonna go spreading it around.”  
Sulmurz hesitated for a moment. ”Zabathân.” Knowing that the question would eventually come, he added, much quieter: ”Means 'humbled'.”  
  
”At least they tried,” Záhovar said as she rose.  
Sulmurz frowned. ”Whaddya mean?”  
”I would hardly call someone who managed to make it into a High Officer's bed 'humble',” she replied with a smirk. Graznikh ignored the remark and lifted the drinking skin to his lips before handing it back to Sulmurz, who looked after the High Officer's swaying hips as she returned to the garden.  
”That one,” Graznikh said and pointed after her, ”needs more cock.”  
Sulmurz glanced at him. ”Whose cock?”  
”Ours, I suppose.”  
”Mmh... Say, is that offer o' yours still on?”  
”What offer?”  
”Down south. Something 'bout taking turns fuckin' her in the blood of our enemies.”  
”...You been thinking o' that the whole time?!”  
”Of course I haven't! It popped up just now.”  
Graznikh sighed. ”I'd wager that'll hafta wait until we're done with Dachman.” He glanced down at his crotch. ”Skai, but it's bloody hard to sit around waiting, knowing what's just outta reach!”  
”How about doin' it in _his_ blood? Celebrate a successful mission an' all that.”  
Graznikh stared at him for a moment before his face cracked up an a leer that was disturbingly similar to Kraash's. ”Oh, don't _say_ shit like that!”  
Sulmurz chuckled a little, but then he let out a sad sigh. ”Not gonna happen, I'd wager. Ye're right 'bout the whole 'snaga' business. I can be tough when I hafta, but... It's not really my thing. I don't need all the string-pulling an' head-twistin' what comes with bein' chief. I figured Lug-snaga was the best o' both, ya know?”  
”Comes'n goes,” Graznikh said after another swig. ”You just hooked up during a rough time. It'll get far better, I promise.”  
”I bloody well hope so! Or I might be gettin' the idea that ya salted the truth a bit when we had that first talk.”  
”Oh, I'd never,” Graznikh chuckled as he handed the skin back. Then he frowned. ”Wait, whose skin is that?”  
”I dunno his name. Probably some snaga from Udûn, judgin' by the colour.”  
”I _meant_ 'who owns it',” Graznikh asked once he stopped laughing.  
”Záhovar,” Sulmurz snickered.  
Graznikh immediately stopped laughing. ”Oh _fuck!_ ”  
”What?”  
”That shit's spiked! She takes way heavier stuff than we can handle. We're gonna be knocked out cold in a moment.”  
”What? Nar, ya can't be... seriouuh...”  
  
  
Praktash was sitting on the edge of the stairs when Záhovar reemerged from the bedroom, tapping his foot against the tiles and worrying his lip nervously. When he spotted her he stood up, his face taut with fear and anticipation.  
”I told you once before what would happen if you went against my command,” Záhovar said quietly as she stopped before him. ”Think you that I would go back on my word?”  
Praktash shook his head and whispered: ”Whaddya want me to do?”  
”Submit.”  
”I won't touch him again! Never planned to, I'm just teasin' him! If he wasn't so bloody easy to rile, I wouldn'ta-”  
”Be silent.”  
Praktash snapped his jaws shut and swallowed. Záhovar slowly paced him, studying him intently.  
”I must say, you have gained an impressive amount of scars in the time we have been on the road,” she commented eventually.  
”Y'think?” Praktash gave his claw-striped buttocks a critical glance in a half-hearted attempt to joke.  
”I'm thinkin' he could do with a few more bite marks,” Margzat rumbled.  
Záhovar smirked briefly before speaking again. ”This is a command to every Uruk in this room. This one,” she pointed at Praktash, ”will be kept away from Sulmurz at all times. I will not forbid him from speaking to him, but he is not to touch him unless he openly asks him to. Mind you; imagined hidden meanings are not enough.”  
”But why?” Praktash asked with a grin. Then he winced in pain as Margzat unexpectedly grabbed his hair and pulled his head back.  
”Don't question the Lug-durbatar!” he snarled.  
”Fuck off,” Praktash snarled and tried to punch him, but missed.  
”Lug-durbatar, I gotta ask,” Margzat rumbled as he let Praktash go. ”Who's the higher rank here, me or him? Is he a part o' the pack or not? I can't figure it out meself an' you've given no clear orders one way or the other.”  
”That's not fair!” Praktash complained.  
”I am not here to sort out your personal struggles,” Záhovar replied. ”If you want him to submit to you, then you will have to convince him yourself. And you are not Lug-snaga yet; I have not given you leave to interfere in our discussions!”  
Margzat immediately backed off.  
”You actually gonna have the uzhâk babysit me?” Praktash asked with a humiliated grin.  
Záhovar nodded. ”I am. Since you are incapable of controlling yourself, that control must be given to someone else. I have use of Sulmurz, for more than simply warming my bed. Your harassment makes him lose focus, and that is something I cannot afford. You are under _my_ command, _Lug-snaga_ ; this group is not your personal playground!” Then she turned to Margzat. ”Krîtar, follow me. I have a few words for you in private.”  
Once Margzat returned, he went straight to the fire place to prepare for supper and the meat soon to arrive. After reigniting the smouldering coals and bringing them outside, he took a tall trivet and placed it upon them. A cast-iron frying pan was placed upon it in turn and left to heat.  
Praktash gave him a wary glance. Neither he nor Záhovar had spoken to him again since they returned from their talk, and he was a bit worried about what they might have cooked up. Margzat did not seem to want to reveal anything though; he kept smiling mischievously to himself while fussing over the fire.  
A sound from upstairs set everyone on alert. Mûrnaluzh was already upstairs, but Margzat sent Golnauk up to check anyway. He soon called cheerfully that supper was served. Spirits immediately rose a few notches and for a while, the guest wing was filled with industrious activity as the Uruks divided the large chunks of meat into smaller pieces. A flowering tree was felled and its wood fashioned into crude hooks to hang the meat on while strings were tied between the remaining trees and fires were lit below. Soon there was a veritable garland of drying meat strung up in the garden. A few choice pieces were saved for supper.

Margzat, seasoned commander and well-acquainted with the Uruks' inbred restlessness that he was, had a rolling schedule for 'downtimes'. After bath and food, he decided that it was time for equipment care and ordered everyone upstairs, using his whip to encourage his subordinates to fall in line and obey.  
”Can't Ghrazagh do mine instead?” Praktash complained. ”He's just sittin' there.”  
”You want armour, you take care o' it!” Ghrazagh growled.  
”It's not _my_ fault it's all soggy! I have to wait 'til the leather's dry anyway.”  
”But the steel needs wipin' off,” Urkhish pointed out, ”or it'll rust. Ya wanna be called 'Squeaker' for the rest o' the trip?”  
Praktash grumbled a little, but sat down and took the oil jar when Golnauk handed it to him. Content that order had been restored, Margzat sat down next to Ghrazagh on a garden bench and saw to his own gear. Ghrazagh had already cared for his armour and was sharpening his axe with slow, controlled strokes.  
”'S gonna take a while afore ya can use 'at again,” Margzat commented.  
Ghrazagh shrugged. ”No point in leavin' it to rot. Might've need o' it sooner than I know. Unlike some.”  
Margzat gave him a suspicious glance. ”The fuck's 'at supposed to mean?”  
”Wasn't referring to you, krîtar.” He shot Mûrnaluzh a baleful look that was returned with equal ferocity.  
”Mind it,” Margzat growled. ”I'll have no rogue killin's.”  
”Unless it's the prey we're hunting,” Lîrnash pointed out.  
"That's not rogue. That's playtime."  
”Aye,” Ghrazagh replied with a bloodthirsty leer. ”'At's gonna be a battle worth bragging 'bout!”  
The conversation continued on that track and soon turned to possible strategies for taking down such a foe. All theoretical, of course; the decision on such matters was ultimately the High Officer's, but it was a good topic to focus on to avoid further antagonising. After a while, Margzat noticed that Praktash was gone. After exchanging a look with Záhovar, he dropped the greaves he had been polishing and went looking for him.  
  
  
Sulmurz had no idea how long he had been out cold when he woke up. He had no headache this time; in fact, there was no discomfort at all where he lay on the thick, down-filled pillow. He was vaguely aware of a warm, soft, heavy hand wandering over his naked chest, down his abdomen and then back up in slow, soothing circles. Without thinking, he adjusted himself a little so that it would get a better reach and began to purr.  
”You really like havin' your belly rubbed, don'tcha? You big puppy.” Praktash chuckled as Sulmurz frantically began to slap and kick, only to bellow in pain as his injured shoulder was jostled.  
”Why d'ya hafta ruin everythin' nice in my life?” Sulmurz snarled.  
”What? By bein' attached to my hand? What does it matter who the hand belongs to if it makes ya feel good?”  
”Just fuck off!!”  
”Shut up,” Graznikh growled quietly.  
”Evenin' buddy!” Praktash chirped. ”You shoulda told me; if I'd known you'd be so desperate for a grog I woulda whipped somethin' up for ya!”  
”Don't worry 'bout it. So what happened out there?”  
”Nothin' special. We had a chat an' made up.”  
Graznikh opened an eye. ”So you've free hands now?”  
”Well...”  
”Out with it; what'd she say?”  
”...She told the others to keep me off him.”  
Graznikh shot up. ”Are you bloody joking?!” Then he paused to rub his gravelly eyes.  
”She didn't tell _me_ to stay off him!” Praktash added quickly.  
Graznikh groaned. ”Of _course_ she didn't! She already tried that over'n over, and she thinks... Nar, she _knows_ you're not capable! You're such a fucking disappointment.”  
”Now wait just a moment-”  
”Nar, _you_ wait! I fucking _spoke_ for ya! Yet here you are, proving me wrong at every turn o' the road! And now she has to put the uzhâk on babysitting ya, all 'cause you can't keep yer hands in yer pants instead of in others'!”  
Praktash opened his mouth to defend himself, to joke it all away, but he couldn't. There was nothing in Graznikh's eyes to hold on to, no sign that he was still on his side. Graznikh shook his head with a sigh and got up.  
”In any case, I need to wash. Don't wanna upset the High Officer. _More._ ” Then he left.

”Um...” Sulmurz began at Graznikh's back, but then he suddenly found himself alone with his predator. A predator that had just been backed into a corner.  
”Sit down.”  
Sulmurz frowned. ”Huh?”  
”Sit down,” Praktash repeated with a hard-set scowl. ”You still have an arrow wound an' I still have a job to do.”  
”I'm not gettin' close to ya!”  
”You get blood-rot up there, you won't last a fortnight!”  
”I did just fine afore ya came around!”  
”So did I!”  
”Oho? Then fuck off!!  
” _You_ fuck off!!” Sulmurz took an involuntary step back as Praktash got up. ”Y'think you've got anythin' on me, little snaga? Y'think that if it came down to it, Záhovar'd pick you over me?”  
”Isn't that kinda obvious by now? Besides, at least I've a cock she can use!”  
Praktash's growl was like a thunderclap just overhead and Sulmurz jumped a little at the sound. ”I could break your legs to get you down if I wanted! So get. The fuck. Down, _snaga,_ or I'll bloody do it!!”  
”Nar,” Margzat said casually as he leaned against the doorpost. ”Nar Bukrazikh, ya won't.”  
Praktash spun towards him. ”Get the fuck outta my business!!”  
”No can do Bukrazikh, not anymore. Ya heard her orders just as well as the rest o' us.” He glanced at Sulmurz. ”Get outta here.”  
Sulmurz was quick to obey, but could not resist giving his now impotent tormentor a smug leer and savoured the resultant seething. As he passed the door, however, the krîtar's fist shot out and closed around his arm as if it had been cuffed in steel.  
”Watch it,” the giant Uruk murmured as he pulled him close. ”I'm under orders to keep _him_ off ya. No decisions regardin' the rest o' us.”  
”I've no quarrel with the rest o' ya,” Sulmurz stammered.  
Margzat gave him a lopsided grin. ”Nar? Keep pushin' it, an' ya might get some.” Slowly, he let his forked tongue slither around a fang to get his point across. ”Now beat it!” With that, he let go and watched as Sulmurz scurried out of reach.  
Praktash gave him a wide grin. ”I knew you were on my side!”  
”Dun' celebrate yet.” Margzat still held one hand, the one he had not used to grab Sulmurz, hidden behind his back and something in the krîtar's confident swagger made the grin slowly fade from Praktash's face. ”'Zat? What..?”  
”Times're changin', Bukrazikh,” Margzat murmured as he stopped close enough to bump into him.  
”Get outta my space,” Praktash said with an insecure grin.  
”'At's _my_ space now,” Margzat replied with dark victory written all over his gnarly features. ”Ye're in the pack solid now. _My_ pack; the Officer's dropped ya off in my tender care.”  
Praktash couldn't believe his ears. ”You're not serious,” he breathed.  
”Oh, I'm serious alright. From now on, you'll do as told. An' if ya won't fall in line on yer own...” He held his previously hidden fist up, revealing what he had been holding; a thin but sturdy chain, made of the same black metal as the High Officers' armour and weapons. Praktash's eyes grew round as he spotted it.  
Margzat let it slide between his fingers as he spoke. ”If ya won't fall in line on yer own, I'll hook _this_ end to 'at pretty collar o' yers an' the other to my belt. Then ya can yank an' yap all ya like, but ye're not gettin' off the leash. You'll be my lapdog 'til you've learned some proper discipline!”  
”You're crazy if you think I'll-” Praktash began, but squeaked as Margzat grabbed his Lug-snaga collar and yanked him forward.  
”I'm thinkin' this is the spot where ya thank yer lucky whatever that ye're under _my_ command an' not Garmadh's,” the krîtar growled. Then he grinned. ”Thought ya said ya didn't pout?”  
”I'm _not_ poutin'!” Praktash protested with a pout. Margzat only chuckled. ”Fuck off!” Then he gurgled as Margzat shook him hard. ”Will you stop doin' that?!”  
  
A few more shakes and various protests later, Praktash collapsed against Margzat's shoulder. ”Alright,” he gasped. ”Have it your way...”  
”Now 'at's what I like to hear,” the krîtar chuckled. A few choked snickers could be heard from outside, revealing that their 'discussion' had not gone unnoticed.  
”Bet you do... I think I'mma be sick.”  
”Not on the carpet, Butterfly.”  
Praktash chuckled mirthlessly as he staggered away. He stopped after a few steps and leaned forward, shaking his head to make it stop spinning. ”Skai...” Despite recent events, he felt some small measure of gratitude towards Margzat as the giant krîtar steadied him with a hand on his shoulder. Then his guts twisted at the thought of the waiting pack and he shrugged it off.  
”I'm not in the mood for this,” he whispered.  
”I'm thinkin' ya don't have a choice,” Margzat rumbled quietly. ”Maybe they'll go easy on ya.”  
Praktash gave him an incredulous glance. ”Are you fuckin' jokin'? It's more likely that I'll be lyin' in a bleedin' heap by this time tomorrow!”  
”Nar, ye're a tough one Bukrazikh. Ghrazagh's out, Mûrna's off-limits, 'at only leaves three.”  
”Four.”  
”Whazzat?”  
”Four. You forgot Golnauk.”  
Margzat chuckled. ”Nar, I'm thinkin' he'll pass. Never been one for contests.”  
”Great... Three then.”  
”Aye.”  
Praktash closed his eyes briefly. Then he stood, stretched and took a deep breath to calm the butterflies in his stomach. Once he could no longer stall things, he followed Margzat out to face his doom.

Meanwhile, Sulmurz had rejoined Graznikh and Záhovar, who were arguing about her recent decision in the upstairs dining room.  
”Ya know what? I can't figure you out at times!”  
”And that is a prerequisite for... what, exactly?”  
”For me doing my job! Why the fuck did you ditch him? You really gonna push him out for _that?_ ”  
”Hey, mind where ye're stickin' those claws,” Sulmurz snarled at his pointed finger.  
”And what am I supposed to do?” Záhovar asked. ”Let him rave free and continue to undermine my authority?”  
”He's Lug-snaga!!”  
”That he is!”  
”He's being beaten bloody down there as we speak! Those Uruks're gonna take out every last grief on him, real or otherwise!”  
”Do you truly think I have abandoned him? That I would permit any true harm to come to him? Have you so little faith in me?”  
That made Graznikh cool off a little. ”I... Wh...”  
”There is far more to this than you could possibly imagine,” she continued, a little calmer than before. ”And I have no intention to sacrifice him for whatever reason.”  
”Then... Why're you doing this?”  
”Do you not see? He is an Uruk without a pack; cursed to struggle with the pack-sense for the rest of his life. No more. It is time for him to master it, and what better time or place than here and now, where I can keep an eye on him?”  
Graznikh bowed his head. ”I guess... Skai, I guess ye're right. I just hope I don't lose him to it.”  
Záhovar's eyes softened a little, although her expression did not change. ”I do not think that he will leave us for this. This is a learning opportunity for him, a path that has been denied him but that might help him grow. We all need such trials now and then. And speaking of trials...” She turned to Sulmurz. ”How do you feel?”  
Sulmurz shrugged. ”'M hungry, thirsty, an' I stink. Can't be so bloody cheerful durin' those circumstances, now can I?”  
”I suppose not. Go and wash then. There is supper left for the both of you when you are done.”  
”Wanna join us? Ya know I'm good at the whole scrubbin' business,” he suggested with a leer that made Graznikh laugh.  
”You're good at the whole 'slip on soap and hit your head' business too!”  
”How d'ya know that?! Oh, that fuckin' Uruk..!”  
”You start pissing on him for this too and I'll lob ya down the waterfall! Let's wait 'til they're done down there. Don't wanna get caught in the debate.”  
”Looks more like a free-for-all to me,” Sulmurz muttered as he peeked down the stairs.  
”What, they didn't tell ya? Uruks solve all debates with their fists. Discussing shit with words're snaga thinking.”  
”...You're a twat sometimes.”  
”Better that than the alternative.”  
Sulmurz gave him a confused look.  
  
  
An Uruk pack was a tight-knit group. Most packs formed early on; when a new Uruk came out of the mud-pit, he was immediately sent to one of the many training centers in Blog Shakâmb, commonly known as boot-camps because this was where the Uruk got his first pair of boots. Here the young Uruks were placed in groups of ten, called uzhâk or packs, and paired with one another based on their respective skills to best complement each other in battle. They became pack-members and shield-mates and from this point on, they would never be separated from each other. The pack ate, slept, trained and caroused as one and were frequently pitted against other packs to strengthen their natural pack-sense. There was a strict code of conduct that oftentimes made little sense for those who had not spent most of their lives abiding by it, but for the Black Uruks it was second nature and within each pack there was a lot of policing to make sure every member adhered. The survival of the individual was the survival of the pack and the other way around; a Black Uruk was nothing without his pack.  
For a grown Uruk to join an already established pack was so rare that it was nearly unheard of, and usually ended badly for the outcast. Margzat's pack was something of an anomaly in that respect; it was entirely made up of Uruks who had been taken from other packs.  
Up until now, Praktash had been living outside of the law of the pack; he had been treated as part outcast and part Margzat's equal. He knew that had this not been the case, had the uzhâk been an already established pack, he would have had a much harder time. Now he dearly hoped that he had garnered enough respect to not get too badly hurt and he was almost glad that this happened now, when half the pack was out of order, but still he could not shake his nervosity off. This change of rank had disrupted the whole pack structure and everyone who was able would try to climb in the pecking order, starting with beating up the newcomer who had had the audacity to start the whole thing. He was still sore from the previous assault and stopped just inside the curtain that separated him from the rest, desperately fighting back anxiety and self-doubt. The moment he passed it, there would be no turning back; Margzat would not, _could_ not help him in any way because he would have to keep an eye out for anyone who might want to challenge him and answer that challenge. Praktash was completely on his own.  
The pack had clearly been informed of his change of status. Praktash felt a tinge of fear as Mûrnaluzh rose and bared his fangs. Golnauk muttered something, but praktash was too focused on Margzat's rival to hear what he said. _C'mon Praktash; you beat 'Zat on the sparrin' field, you can do this!  
But that was with a mace in your hand,_ his self-loathing pointed out. _In hand-to-hand, he tossed ya over like you were a lump of dirt! Which you are.  
Shut up!_  
Mûrnaluzh wasted no time; his steps lengthened as he advanced and threw himself at him with a bellow. Praktash ducked, but the impact never came; just before Mûrnaluzh collided with him, Draumaturz tackled him. Mûrnaluzh rolled back onto his feet in one smooth move.  
”You fucking little rebel!” he growled.  
”Come off it, you've already had yer fun!” Draumaturz growled back. Praktash threw him an uncertain glance as he took a shieldmate's stance beside him and shot him a grin. This was _not_ how it was supposed to happen!  
”Get the fuck outta my business,” Praktash told him.  
”This isn't a fight to the death,” Draumaturz replied. ”if the two o' you go at it, it will be.”  
”Aww, but Draaauma!” Praktash whined in his most obnoxious voice. ”I _wanna_ go at it!”  
That made Draumaturz double over with laughter; Praktash took the opportunity to shove him and he toppled over with a curse. Mûrnaluzh pounced him in turn, only to get bowled over again, this time by Urkhish. Lîrnash jumped in as well and there was no telling which side he was on, if any. The result was utter chaos.  
  
”This is the lamest fight I've ever seen,” Ghrazagh complained. ”Get yer claws up, for fuck's sake!”  
”I'm thinkin' you'd been able to get in there an' steer things up, if you'd listened to the nurse,” Margzat chuckled.  
Ghrazagh bared his fangs in a half-grin. ”Good as he might be, he's no dushatar. This'll take time, healer or nar.” He whooped as Lîrnash took a kick in the chest. ”I told ya how to counter that, ya sauce head! Skai, ye're daft at times!”  
Margzat only patted his knee with a leer. It just so happened to be the injured one and Ghrazagh bellowed in pain and shoved him hard enough to almost push him off the bench.  
”Disrespectin' yer krîtar, are ya?” Margzat laughed. ”I'm thinkin' ya should wait 'til ye're healed.”  
”Fuck off,” Ghrazagh replied defensively. ”Go pick a fight with someone who can hold their own.”  
”'Gainst me? I'm thinkin' I'd hafta to back to Lugburz for 'at.”  
”What, admittin' you could be bested? That's not smart...”  
”Will the lot of you get outta my fight?!” Praktash exclaimed, redirecting Margzat's and Ghrazagh's focus back to him. ”You're ruinin' my glory here!”  
”Come off it, Bukrazikh!” Urkhish chuckled as he roughly wrapped a friendly arm around his shoulders. ”As far as I'm concerned, you're already in. I'm not gonna beat ya up for pity's sake.”  
”Been from the start, if you ask me,” Draumaturz agreed. ”This is a bloody formality. Be kinda stupid to wreck a winning concept, nar?”  
Lîrnash frowned. ”Thought we were ganging up on the loser?”  
”So that's how it is, is it?” Mûrnaluzh said slyly. ”Let's all embrace the freak in our midst, throw the pack rules to the pits!”  
”Fuck off, you only stick to 'em when it suits ya!”  
”Need I remind ya that the idiots you hung out with attacked the High Officer?” Urkhish said, interrupting Mûrnaluzh's furious growl.  
”Aye, they did!” Mûrnaluzh replied hotly. ” _They_ did, not me! If I'd known their plans, I woulda stopped 'em! Don't fling their shit on me, I had nothing to do with it!”  
”Your first buddy tried to kill me,” Praktash pointed out.  
Mûrnaluzh gave him an insolent grin. ”Doesn't look like he succeeded.”  
”Not for lack of tryin'.”  
”So what's 'at got to do with me?”  
”Well, you do have some crappy taste in company.”  
”And you've some sweet one, haven't ya?”  
Praktash gave him an obnoxious leer. ”I sure do. Sweetest of them all! I get whatever I point at. Unlike some.”  
Mûrnaluzh's eyes widened in feigned surprise. ”So... _That's_ how it is?”  
Praktash shrugged. ”I guess..?”  
He nodded thoughtfully. ”So you're only with the Lug-durbatar to reap the benefits... No real loyalty 'cept to the stuff?”  
Praktash's face fell. ”What? Nar!”  
”An' she fell for it,” Mûrnaluzh continued to muse, ”to the point where she'd happily let ya get away with open mutiny and disobedience, and the only 'punishment' she could think of was to dump your insubordinate arse in the lap of someone we both know can't say 'nar' to ya the moment you flutter those pretty red eyelashes at him. Well played, Ghâshkaum, well played. Too bad it doesn't work on everyone, eh?”  
”Like we haven't all tried to garner some favour or another,” Urkhish retorted. ”He might be queer, but not stupid. I don't think he'd ruin the mission.”  
”'Course he wouldn't,” Mûrnaluzh leered. ”Khayri the opa-snaga wouldn't hurt a fly.”  
The blood left Praktash's face.  
Draumaturz frowned. ”Who?”  
”Garmadh's little pet,” Mûrnaluzh said casually. ”He told me some. Seems you were a cock-sucker right from the start, Khayri.”  
Margzat growled something, but Praktash could not hear it. His eyes saw other faces, heard other words. Other screams. He spun and turned his back on them. Draumaturz came up behind him and tried to hold him back, but Praktash elbowed him in the chest and growled at him to piss off. When Draumaturz persisted, he began to walk away. Several of the Uruks stood to drag him back, but Margzat stopped them.  
”Let 'im go,” he told them. ”I'm thinkin' he'll come back once he's done...” He trailed off with a scowl. His instincts suddenly flared and there was a distinctly uncomfortable feeling, as if a dagger was poised between his shoulder blades. Glancing to the side, he locked eyes with Graznikh. Margzat, great Black Uruk though he was, suddenly felt afraid; that cold, unblinking glare was more than he could handle. He quickly headed in the direction Praktash had disappeared.  
  
Praktash had hidden in one of the guest rooms. Margzat found him sitting behind the closed curtains of a mattress-less bed and he did not respond when Margzat pulled them aside and sat down beside him. They remained like that for a while; Margzat kept picking his teeth with a claw while Praktash sat motionless with his arms around his knees and his head against them.  
”Will I ever be alone again?” Praktash asked eventually.  
Margzat glanced at him. ”The pack's supposed to stick together.”  
”But _I'm_ not! I don't wanna be a part of your stupid band!”  
”'Pack', Bukrazikh.”  
”Whatever. I dont' care!”  
”I'm thinkin' 'at doesn't matter anymore. Don't get me wrong; I don't like seein' ya all shut down like this. But the Lug-durbatar's given us an order; can't go against 'at, not without goin' rogue.”  
”I can! We had a deal!”  
Margzat went quiet for a moment. ”What kinda deal?”  
”When I let her collar me. I'd only do it if I could opt out.”  
”An' 'at optin' out... would happen with no consequence?”  
Praktash fell silent for a while. ”I can't remember every word what was said,” he replied defensively.  
Margzat grinned mirthlessly. ”I'm thinkin' there's _always_ consequences for yer actions, Bukrazikh. An' what's more, I'm thinkin' ya can't outsmart a High Officer. Ya might be able to 'opt out', but the rest o' us don't. Ya can walk away if ya like, but then ye're walkin' away from the rest o' us too.”  
”Some folks I wouldn't mind walkin' away from.”  
”I'm thinkin' you'd be better of just kickin' his balls in. 'At'd shut him up.”  
”Or make him even more vocal.” Margzat laughed a little as Praktash let out a high-pitched yowl. Then his head fell back down against his knees.  
”So...” Margzat murmured. ”'Bout 'Khayri'...”  
”Don't!” Praktash snapped. ”Just drop it. It's none of your fuckin' business!”  
”I'm thinkin' it is now. He's got a hook in ya now, whether ya like it or not. Can't say I'm not curious myself. There'll be questions, an'-”  
”Then they can fuck off! I'm not gonna stand there an' tell everyone my whole life's story! It's over, it's past, why can'tcha all just let it rot?!”  
Margzat was taken aback by the outburst. ”Alright then,” he said eventually with a hint of bitterness in his voice. ”Flutter yer eyelashes. Come back out when you're done mopin'.” With that, he left.

 


	16. Flower Bazaar

Sulmurz shook the water out of his ears. Despite his earlier grumblings, it did feel rather nice to be clean; the skin on his back tingled after the scrubbing Graznikh had given him and his scalp felt like it was breathing for the first time in forever after layers of old sebum and dead skin had been scritched out of his hair. He brushed a few wet strands out of his eyes and stretched leisurely.  
”You gonna flaunt that all night?” Graznikh leered.  
”You gonna take the Uruk's place now?” Sulmurz complained.  
”You did threaten to stab my buddy in his sleep. And trust me; he's _not_ into that. Unless he's the one doing the stabbing.”  
”Will you stop ruinin' everything?!”  
”I am surrounded by disobedience...” Záhovar murmured.  
”Not for lack of trying,” Graznikh replied.  
”Trying to disobey or the opposite?”  
”So far, I'd wager it's a little of both.” He flashed her a fond grin.  
”Skai, I hate these trousers!” Sulmurz muttered as he wrung the wet cloth. ”I miss my old pants. Leather just gets softer the longer ya wear it; this flimsy stuff just go stale.”  
”Ya might wanna think 'bout getting a new pair soon,” Graznikh said after eyeing the trousers in question. ”Or get a loincloth. Otherwise ya might as well go without 'em.”  
”I shall see about getting you all some new clothes,” Záhovar said.  
”Gonna doll us up all over again, are ya?” Graznikh asked with faked concern. ”That shit's not healthy.”  
”That would depend on your choice,” she replied with a teasing smile. ”Would you prefer bows or frills, my Lug-snaga?”  
”Fuck off!!”  
Sulmurz began to snicker. ”Now that's a painting I'd like to see!”  
”Watch it, or you'll be the one getting painted!” Then he frowned. ”What's a 'painting'?”  
”It's a sheet o' wood what's smudged with paint,” Sulmurz explained. ”Usually looks like something fancy, like a sunset or a patch o' flowers or some other stuff tarks like to look at.”  
”You have seen a few already,” Záhovar told him. ”In the lounge in the High Officers' quarters.”  
”Oh... Right.” Graznikh leered. ”I like the one with the naked Elf.”  
Now it was Sulmurz's time to look confused. ”There're paintings o' naked Elves in Lugburz?”  
”Oh aye... Among other things. Dragons, burning cities, stuff like that.”  
”I believe one of my predecessors made them,” Záhovar said. ”She had a thing for depicting dramatic events. Apparently she made many of the sculptures as well.”  
”Huh,” Sulmurz grunted. ”Guess Top Ones need hobbies too.”

Suddenly Zosh came rushing down the stairs. ”You's gotta come! It's bad! Real bad! PRAAAKTASH!!!”  
”Shit!!” Sulmurz squeaked as he covered his ears. ”Where the fuck did she get that voice from?!”  
”From yer balls,” Zosh snapped. ”You sure don't need 'em!” She bolted into the room where Praktash sat to avoid his wrath. After some more yelling and other noises from inside, Praktash came stumbling out.  
”Alright, alright, I'm goin'!! No need to fry my ears off.” He let Zosh drag him into one of the adjacent rooms. Sulmurz and Graznikh followed them out of sheer curiosity. As Praktash pulled the curtain aside, he let out a low curse.  
Mikbork was hiding in the darkest corner, and he looked miserable. His nose was leaking copious amounts of snot, his eyes were so bloodshot they were nearly black and his breath came out in tortured wheezes.  
”'S just getting worse!” Zosh whimpered. ”Do something!”  
”This is gonna be a long night,” Praktash muttered. ”Alright; let's bring him downstairs. I'll take a closer look an' cook somethin' up.” He picked Mikbork up and carried him outside. The snuffler squeezed his eyes shut with a whimper the moment the light of the fire reached him. Zosh quickly built him a little shelter; Draumaturz began to protest as she carried his shield off for that purpose but Praktash told him off with a snarl.  
”Here,” he told Mikbork and handed him a torn-off piece of cloth. ”Clean that nose out. So when did this start?”  
”He sniffed the soap,” Zosh explained. ”T'wasn't bad at first, but then we put it in water like the rest o' ya did, 'n it got worse'n worse!”  
”He didn't try to breathe the water, did he?”  
”Nar, just air. And soapstink.”  
”Guess his nose just doesn't like soap then. I might have somethin' for that.”  
”I knew ya did!” Zosh chirped.  
Praktash shrugged. After tossing some salt and a careful selection of herbs, he brought the pot over to where Mikbork was huddling. ”Here; cover your head with this rag, then you take deep breaths of this.”  
”I can't sbell,” Mikbork whimpered.  
”That's a good thing, innit?” Zosh pointed out. ”Now ya can't sbell the soap.”  
”I think he meant 'smell',” Urkhish said.  
”'S not what he said.”  
”Whatever,” Praktash interrupted. ”Not in the mood.”  
”Will he recover?” Záhovar asked.  
”I'll know once he stops snivelin'. But I think so; he probably just had a reaction to the soap. Maybe snufflers are weird like that.” He placed some more herbs in a cloth bag and put it into the pot. After leaving it to steep for a while, he had Mikbork lie down on his side and used a fine strainer and a funnel to pour the warm liquid in through one nostril and out through the other. Mikbork kept snorting and sneezing throughout, so it was a rather messy business. Slowly but surely he began to breathe easier.

”Better now?” Praktash asked.  
”I can't smell,” Mikbork whimpered. ”Can't smell anything!”  
”It'll probably come back soon.”  
”Probably?!”  
”Don't ask me, I've never seen this before! But I helped ya an' it worked. That flushin' might've just taken your sense of smell with it for a while. Come back if it's not back within a week, _then_ you can start whinin'.” He poured the old medicine out and washed the pot with both water and soap before filling it with new water. Once it was boiling, he took a few pinches of various strong-smelling herbs and let the mixture steep and cool before handing it to Mikbork. ”Here; drink this. It'll make ya breathe easier.”  
Mikbork took a sip and shuddered. ”Tastes like piss!”  
”You don't have to like it, just drink it. Unless you wanna get another bout of runny nose, that is.”  
”Grumpy ol' nail-face,” Zosh muttered from inside the shield-shelter.  
Praktash ignored her. ”Anythin' else? Then I'm off to bed.” The moment he got up, Urkhish and Draumaturz got up as well and caught him as he headed for the little room he had been hiding in.  
”Lemme go,” Praktash snarled. The other Uruks did not listen; they turned him around instead and led him into the master bedroom. Praktash had apparently given up and listlessly let himself be dragged away, but not before giving Záhovar a sullen glare.  
”Shut-eye sounds good,” Graznikh murmured with a big yawn and a stretch. ”Master, you gonna stay up?”  
”I suppose not,” Záhovar replied. ”Sulmurz?”  
”Got nothin' else to do. I'm in.”  
”Mornin', buddy,” Graznikh said as they passed him where he lay between Urkhish and Draumaturz. ”Sleep tight.”  
Praktash did not reply.  
  
  
The following morning, Orcs, Uruks and High Officer alike woke up to a delicious scent. Margzat was humming quietly to himself as he stirred the pot, pausing now and then to sample the contents of it with a thoughtful frown.  
”What have you done to this broth?” Záhovar asked after the first sip. ”It tastes completely different from yesterday.”  
”Switched some spices,” Margzat replied. ”An' I let it simmer for a bit; made it thicker.”  
No one in the company cared to use utensils; spoons were just an extra burden on long marches and the knife that hung in every self-respecting Orc's belt served as an all-purpose tool for dicing, slicing and piercing whatever their teeth or claws could not handle. Solid foodstuffs were held or placed in one's lap and a simple bowl for holding liquid foodstuffs and drink, complete with a sturdy handle on one side, topped it off. Záhovar had followed their example already on the southern journey and now she handled both bowl and knife with equal skill. The only excess she permitted herself was a piece of waxed hempcloth placed in her lap to protect her clothes from unnecessary stains.  
Today's breakfast was made up of more than just broth; with the first batch of food had arrived a small bag of barley flour which Margzat had mixed with broth, formed into flat cakes and baked directly on the hot coals in the open fireplace. This made for a crusty and greasy but nourishing bread with a rich flavour and a touch of ash. He had also added some shredded kale to the broth and let it simmer until it was soft. Mikbork and Zosh happily gobbled it up while some of the others complained that it was green.  
”How come you're so keen on leaves?” Graznikh asked the snufflers.  
”Desolation snaga,” Sulmurz commented as if that explained everything.  
Mikbork rolled his huge eyes. ”I bet _he_ never had to go hungry.”  
”Now whazzat supposed to mean?” Sulmurz asked with his mouth full. ”I've gone hungry plenty o' times!”  
”You been starving?” Zosh asked. ” _Really_ starving? Like, the kind where you'd eat cock if it meant no more starving?”  
Praktash spat his broth out all over Margzat's lap and chest and began to cough and sputter. The krîtar let out a resigned sigh that sounded more like a passing hurricane and began to wipe his face with a torn-off pillowcase. Zosh gave the scowling Sulmurz a wide-eyed look of complete, oblivious innocence.  
Sulmurz gave Záhovar a pleading look. ”Can we leave that one here when we set out next?”  
”Told ya she's an idiot,” Mikbork quietly reminded Graznikh. ”'S like the light in her eyes's just the Moon shining through the hole in the back o' her skull.”  
”That makes two of 'em,” Sulmurz muttered with a sour glance at the snickering Praktash.  
”Y'know I'd happily stuff the hole in your back any time, Sully!” Praktash squeaked as Urkhish yanked him backwards by the hair and shoved a fistful of bread into his gaping mouth.  
”'Ere; let's stuff _your_ hole for a while!” Urkhish chuckled.  
”I waffn't doin' anyfingh!”  
”So? Just keeping ya distracted, Bukrazikh.”  
”You can't call me that!” Praktash protested once he had rid his mouth of the bread. ”That's the krîtar's privilege!”  
”Good to know,” Margzat rumbled. ”I'm thinkin' I should start takin' notes.” He chuckled as Praktash stuck his tongue out. ”Slept well?”  
”I woulda slept better if you hadn't been passin' me around all night.”  
”Funny, I can't remember 'at happenin'.”  
”Not you, but the others! What's up with that?”  
”Don't be like that now,” Golnauk chuckled. ”Nothing wrong with sharin' a li'l.”  
”Not when I'm tryin' to sleep! Ugh, why do I even try?!” The Uruks only snickered in reply.  
”Own your space.”  
Praktash turned to look at Záhovar. ”What?”  
”Own your space,” she repeated, but gave no further explanation. Praktash pondered her words over a second serving. _Skai, does she_ have _to be so enigmatic?  
_ Once he had finished his meal, Graznikh stretched. ”Say, master?”  
”Yes, my Lug-snaga?”  
”Mind if I take a quick trip downtown later? Been meaning to pick some stuff up in the market, in case there's any good stuff there that is.”  
”You may go, but not alone.”  
”I could go with him,” Praktash said rapidly, interrupting Sulmurz who had just opened his mouth to suggest the same. ”Then I could restock a bit on antidote an' ghâshpau ingredients. Eye knows I'll need to brew a new batch both now an' before we leave, what with the rate this lot went through the last.”  
”I will allow it if the krîtar has no need for you.”  
”He _always_ had need of me,” Praktash muttered while rolling his eyes and elicited a snicker from the others, including Margzat.  
”I'm thinkin' I can survive without ya for a toll or two. 'Sides, I'm thinkin' you've had enough o' 'needin' for a while now, hmm?”  
”Done him in, have I?” Mûrnaluzh sneered. ”Thought you were tougher than that.”  
”You? Done _me_ in?” Praktash chuckled and spat a piece of bone into the fireplace. ”Barely felt ya at all! Too bad you missed the krîtar's glorious performance. _That's_ what I call a proper fuck! Made me forget all about your paltry play.”  
No matter how Margzat struggled, he could not fully keep the smug leer off his face. Mûrnaluzh gave him a look of distaste.  
  
  
Záhovar left for the library immediately after breakfast. Graznikh accompanied her to take Akûl for a run while she worked and Praktash decided to assess his drug stores to see what he needed more of. Meanwhile, Mikbork was busy fashioning a sun screen from a discarded blanket out in the garden. Zosh had been given a new pile of clothes to wash and was disinclined to do so without shelter from the Sun, which was already high on the sky but gave little warmth through the thin clouds. Now she was grumpily scrubbing a pair of the High Officer's underwear on the little washing board that Graznikh had brought along from Thaurband.  
”Do they hafta pork all the time? 'S ruining my mood!”  
Mikbork started laughing so hard he almost fell out of the tree. ”How...” he began but had to stop to catch his breath. ”How's _her_ porking ruinin' _your_ mood? She's not rutting _you!_ ”  
”Nar, but the stains're bloody hard to get out! Can't they at least splash some water on her once they're done?”  
”Snaga can't be choosers, Zosh,” Mikbork said as he squatted beside and gave the corkscrew lock on her temple a fond flick.  
”Pfft! Still better than sittin' in Kughurz's fuckin' hole. Cleanin' his dick and ridin' his boots, or maybe t'was the other way around.” She snickered a little as she felt a presence both strange and familiar reach out an unseen hand. They sat in silence for a while, simply basking in each other, until they were interrupted by a very unwelcome presence.  
”Skai, that's nasty,” Kraash sneered. ”Two little goblins, sitting in a tree...”  
”We're not _in_ a tree,” Mikbork muttered. ”Ya big bully.” He eyed Kraash warily as the bigger Orc began to advance on their position. ”Ghakû said he'd put rings in your ears'n ride ya like a pony back to Lugburz if ya messed with us again!”  
Kraash snorted. ”I'd like to see him try.”  
”Where is he?” Zosh asked. ”Did you kill 'im?”  
”'Course I didn't! He's still fun! Nar, he's asleep. Old guy can only keep it up so long. Unlike you.” He leered and began to advance again. ”You're bloody _boring._ Care to make yourselves... fun?”  
”Mickey...” Zosh said and swallowed. ”Maybe we should-”  
Kraash pounced them with a growl. Both snufflers bolted and he immediately went after Zosh. Zosh was fast, but not quite fast enough, and out in the open she stood little chance against the much larger and stronger Kraash. The moment Mikbork realised that he was not being followed, he turned and pounced Kraash in turn. Kraash kicked him hard in the chest and sent him staggering backwards; he wavered for a moment on the edge of the pool, then he fell into it.  
”MIIICKEEYYY!!!” Zosh screamed. Kraash laughed out loud and slapped her hard to shut her up. Then he pulled her close.  
”Here's one thing that cock-addled Uruk forgot,” he murmured hoarsely. ”You don't need to be in heat to get fucked!” He pushed her back down and began to shred her clothes.  
  
”What the _fuck_ is goin' on here?!” Sulmurz snarled as he came barging out of the master bedroom. Kraash casually tossed Zosh aside; the moment she had recovered from the fall, she reached for the frantically struggling Mikbork and dragged him out of the pond.  
”I'm just exercising the snaga,” Kraash leered as he got up. ”What of it?”  
”I don't remember the High Officer changin' her orders 'bout ya lately,” Sulmurz said. ”Quit pretendin' ye're worth somethin' all o' a sudden!”  
”You're a fuckin' disappointment,” Kraash growled. ”You used to be a ruthless bastard, went through whips like others go through boots! Now look at'cha; how many times've you used that whip? It's just hanging there, still looks brand new. You've gone prissy'n sissy from that Elven cunt!”  
Sulmurz's jaw dropped. ”What did you just fucking say?!”  
”Ya heard me,” Kraash snarled. ”Got close enough to sniff her proper.”  
”An' how d'ya know what Elf smells like?” Sulmurz asked, still too much in shock to come up with something else to say.  
”I rutted more than one back in the war, ya daft jizzrag! I was there, walked in through the main gate o' the Elf stronghold with the rest o' the horde! We even used their leader as a banner, sha! Best night o' my life. That creepy bint you're rutting smells like Elf, looks like an Elf, talks like an Elf! It's probably her fault you're acting all queer; she put some spell on ya with her Elf-witch cunt.”  
”An' Graznikh?”  
”Skai! He's too far gone to save. Better put 'im outta his misery.”  
”Nar nar, hold on now,” Sulmurz chuckled. ”First o' all, Elves die when you fuck 'em. Everyone knows that! She's been fucked proper I'd say, an' she's still alive an' kickin'. Second, ya don't think the Eye woulda found out if she was one? She'd be in a dungeon afore ya could say 'spy'! Ya think a regular Elf could fool the Eye? It's the fuckin' _Eye!_ ”  
”Besides, Elves glow in the dark,” Zosh chimed in.  
”An' how d'ya know _that_?” Sulmurz asked.  
”Heard it from this other guy who'd talked to a guy who'd interrogated a trader who'd chatted with a fisherman from Thaurband who'd heard it from a corsair what once sailed on a tark boat.”  
Mikbork groaned. ”Ya didn't believe Graznikh's story 'bout the pinch-spider war, but ya believe _that_?”  
”It makes sense! Pinch-spider war doesn't.”  
”Sure it does!”  
”Nar, it doesn't!”  
”Sure!”  
”Nar!”  
”Sure!!”  
”I don't even remember what we were arguin' about,” Sulmurz muttered after a while.  
”Elves,” Kraash grunted. ”Nevermind, this is boring. Wanna play dice?”  
”Sure, whatever. I'll get my bag.”  
  
  
After returning Akûl to Záhovar, Graznikh returned to the palace. He felt a little dizzy from the Sun despite the leather hood he wore, but it was nothing a few swigs of booze could not cure. Praktash had already geared up and was waiting for him to finish his drink so they could leave.  
”Calm down, ya twitchy krurbatâr!” Graznikh snarled at him with a grin. ”The Sun's not gonna set any faster just 'cause I _drink_ faster, and I'm not wearing that bloody hood a moment longer than necessary! It's bloody sweaty in there.”  
Praktash only laughed at him and pulled him up into his lap. Margzat pretended to ignore them and settled down to sleep, but Graznikh caught the envious gleam in his eyes before he closed them. He finished his drink fast to minimise 'chafing' and soon they left the palace gates.

The city outside the inner wall reminded Graznikh of Thaurband; built like a complete mess. Nine large boulevards ran towards the center of the city, joining together in three just before they reached the plazas before the three gates to the temple district. Inbetween these were a myriad of smaller streets, slums, tiled plazas, markets and parks of various size.  
Graznikh cursed. ”Shoulda asked for a fuckin' map... Let's not get lost. This place might be as cutthroat as Lugburz.”  
When Praktash didn't reply, Graznikh turned around only to find that the Uruk was gone. The next moment, an earsplitting scream echoed from one of the side streets. Graznikh let out a string of curses and ran towards it.  
He reached the alley at the same time as a couple of guards did so from another street. Both stopped to stare at Praktash, who was squatting by the side of the street with a Man-cub in his arms. Graznikh couldn't tell the toddler's age, but he guessed that it had just learned to walk. A woman who Graznikh supposed was the mother was having a nervous breakdown on the other side of the street.  
”Hey buddy! Look what I found!” Praktash said with a big happy grin as he spotted him. He rubbed his broad, blunt nose against the toddler's belly and the kid whooped with squeaky laughter and waved its little arms as the Uruk's lip piercings tickled it. ”It's fuckin' _cute!_ Can I keep it?”  
”I don't think that's a good idea,” Graznikh said with a grin. ”Man-cubs need lots of food.”  
”Margzat cooks for us.”  
”They don't eat meat, they need milk. An' you've got no tits.”  
”Záhovar does, she can feed it!”  
The mental image of the High Officer nursing a Man-brat was so disturbing that Graznikh had to steady himself a little against the wall. ”Women only have milk when they've spawned. Besides, I don't know shit about raising cubs, nor do you. Maybe you should just hand it back to its mum.”  
”Fine,” Praktash sighed. He bumped his nose against the child's cheek one last time before walking over to the distraught woman.  
”Thanks for the loan,” he said cheerfully as he handed her the toddler. ”Cute little bastard.” Then he left, oblivious to the woman's mortified look.  
”Did you get directions?” he asked as they left the side street and returned to the boulevard.  
”Nar, I was a bit busy looking for you.”  
”...Oh.”  
”Why the fuck did ya bolt like that anyway? I thought we agreed to stick together!”  
”It was _cute!_ ”  
”So? Ya gonna chase after every cute critter we come across?”  
”'Course I won't. It's just... Nevermind, just drop it.” They continued in silence for a while. Praktash was uncharacteristically solemn and barely looked up from the cobblestones.  
”Ya okay, buddy?” Graznikh asked after a while.  
”I want cubs,” Praktash said quietly.  
”What?”  
”Y'know, cubs. Babies.”  
”I know what cubs are. But... Why?”  
”Why not? They're cute!”  
”They're not small'n cute forever, ya know. Soon they turn into little monsters what'll wreck your herb stores and use your mace to check how deep the bagronk is.”  
Praktash snorted. ”Were you one o' those, or what?”  
”Yup,” Graznikh chuckled. ”I've got first-hand experience. 'Sides, you'd hafta stick it to a woman to make 'em.”  
Praktash shuddered a little. ”But... What if _you_ do it?”  
Graznikh glared at him. ”I'm _not_ gonna spunk in some female just so you can take the result!”  
”I wasn't talkin' 'bout that!” Praktash snapped. ”But what about Záhovar? Why haven't you spawned any with her?”  
”I, err... dunno how?”  
Praktash began to laugh so hard that he had to sit down in a flowerbed. ”You don't know how?! Oh buddy... Oh, fuck _you_!”  
”For fuck's sake, of course I bloody know how cubs're made! It just never happened with her. I dunno why; maybe her kind do it differently.”  
”Different how?”  
”I don't bloody know, maybe ya hafta shuck an acorn in there'n spunk on that or something.”  
Now Praktash was rolling around in the flowers, nearly weeping. A small group of upstanding citizens had gathered nearby and were throwing mortified looks at the Uruk defiling their park.  
Graznikh gave him a friendly kick. ”C'mon, quit molesting the flowers. Let's find that bloody market afore they call the guards down on us.”  
”But it's so comfy here,” Praktash purred and humped the ground. ”Ow!” he exclaimed as Graznikh kicked harder. He jokingly tried to grab his leg but missed. ”Awright, awright, I'll get up! Quit bein' a snaga!”

  
Back in the palace, the Uruks' and Orcs' boredom was disturbed by a robed Man who suddenly wandered in through the door. Margzat rose to stop him with a growl. ”Whaddya want?”  
The man paled and said something incomprehensible.  
”I don't get it. Nar, I don't understand. I... Don't... Get... Skai!” Margzat grew more and more frustrated as he tried to communicate. The man did not seem to understand a single word in Common and kept gesturing and pointing into the room.  
”Ye're not enterin',” Margzat rumbled. ”The Officer's not here. Nar, not here – in the city! In... The...”  
”Oh, come _on!_ ” Sulmurz exclaimed. ”He's not askin' for lord Záhovar!”  
Margzat turned to him with a frown. ”Whaddya know o' that?”  
Sulmurz let out an exasperated sigh and came over. He nodded to the Man and said a few words that Margzat did not understand. The Man shone up and began to gesture and bow. Sulmurz barked something and the Man stopped. After a brief conversation, the Man bowed one last time and left.  
”What did he want?” Margzat asked.  
”Some kind o' scholar,” Sulmurz replied. ”He's doing a... Not sure what to call it. A book of some kind, on 'Orc-kind' an' their behavior. He wanted to ask us questions 'bout it. I told him to go ask Záhovar, since we're her snaga.”  
”Good thinkin',” Margzat rumbled. ”Last we need here're nosy spies.” Then his eyes narrowed. ”How'd ya know what he was sayin'?”  
Sulmurz shrugged. ”The band I used to run with afore I came to Lugburz had ome dealings with Rhûnish waylayers. Picked up a few words here'n there.”  
Margzat nodded slowly. ”Why deal with 'em at all?”  
”Same reason we deal with the folks in Thaurband'n the Black Tarks, I guess. Sometuimes we'd hit some rich merchant who was too cheap to pay for proper guards. After, we'd have stuff the waylayers wanted an' they had stuff we wanted in return. So we switched goods.”  
Ghrazagh sneered and muttered something about 'snaga ways'.  
”Aye, sneer all ya want,” Sulmurz snarled. ”Uruk ways wouldn't last ya a fortnight alone outside o' Lugburz! Sometimes ya gotta bend if ya wanna live at all. An' sometimes ya have reasons not to kill, even when ya can, 'cause keepin' those folks alive might give ya something far better than a dead roundear in the end.”  
”Oho. Like what?”  
Sulmurz turned to glance at Kraash, who was the one who had spoken last. ”Like other dead roundears someplace else an' a steady supply o' booze, food, decent iron an' leather an' some fun along the way.” He leered a little. ”Sometimes they're even willin' to trade plashnak, for the right price.”  
”Funny, that,” Kraash said casually. ”Almost sounds like you're saying goin' rogue is better than what Lugburz hafta offer.”  
”Then ya might wanna uncork yer ears,” Sulmurz replied with a smug grin and made himself comfortable on Záhovar's bed. ”I'm perfectly satisfied with the current amount o' booze, food an' plashnak.”  
Draumaturz shot Kraash a nasty look and whispered something to Urkhish, who began to laugh.  
”Care to share?” Golnauk asked.  
”Why would we trade for plashnak? We already got one,” Draumaturz snickered and pointed at the increasingly furious Kraash.  
”And you bloody wonder why I'm staying away from this lot,” Kraash snarled at Sulmurz and stomped away.  
”Run all ya like, opa-snaga,” Draumaturz cheerfully called after him. ”You know the deal!”  
”What deal?” Margzat asked.  
Urkhish grinned as he gave the arrow he was sharpening a close look. ”We'll stop hounding his arse when he crawls naked and on all fours up to the Lug-durbatar and begs for mercy.”  
”An' if she doesn't give it to 'im?”  
Urkhish shrugged. ”That's not our problem. We're just following orders.”  
Sulmurz suppressed a shudder.

  
Even with directions, the city was not easy to navigate. When they finally reached the market the sun hung low on the horizon, but the place seemed to be as busy as ever.  
”Do these people ever sleep?” Graznikh wondered. ”By the way, keep your purse close. These places are usually packed full o' thieves.”  
”Maybe it's better if you take mine,” Praktash said. ”I'm nowhere near as quick as you when it comes to catchin' those kinda things.” He gave the market an eager look. ”This is gonna be fun!”  
The 'Flower Bazaar' was huge, and clearly not just a place for selling flowers. There were both temporary stalls and more permanent shops selling perfumes, soaps, mineral and herbal pigments, jewellery, incense, spices, alcohol and drugs among many other things. The merchants and visitors were as colourful as the wares and Praktash couldn't make up his mind about where to look first. He and Graznikh were a stark, greyscale contrast to the caleidoscope of colours surrounding them and Praktash couldn't help but feel a little boring in comparison. He spotted a willowy man whose hair reminded him of Ghrazagh's; the wiry Uruk didn't bother to cut his hair, but instead let it grow long and felted it together into a mane of long, thick ropes that hung down to his waist. The man at the market had similar ropes but thinner, coloured in a strange mixture of green and brown, and he wore a hooded jacket of felted wool adorned with swirling embroideries and little strands of glass beads in earthy colours. As he looked around, he spotted a few others in similar outfits, men and women.  
”What are they?” he whispered to Graznikh.  
Graznikh shrugged. He watched them as well, but for other reasons. _They move like snakes. Now where have I seen people move like that before?_  
A strong, heady mixture of scents caught Graznikh's attention and he no longer cared about strangely dressed people. They had passed a stall that sold perfumes and scented salves. He trader gave him a sceptical look as he came closer with Praktash in tow.  
”Can I... help you?” he asked in heavily accented Common.  
”Might be,” Graznikh replied. ”I'm looking for some stuff folks put in their hair.”  
The shop keeper gave his shaggy black mane a puzzled look. ”For yourself?”  
Graznikh chuckled. ”Nar, for my master.”  
”Can you describe the scent?”  
”...Sweet and sour at the same time.”  
The man frowned as he pondered the description. ”Both sweet and sour...” He went over to one of the shelves that lined the front of the stall and picked a number of little jars. Then he placed them on the counter. ”Perhaps one of these?”  
Graznikh picked them up one at a time and sniffed. Then he shook his head. ”Nar, more tangy.”  
”Was any one of them similar to the scent you seek?”  
After giving the jars a second sniff, he picked one out. ”This one had the sour scent, but not the others.”  
”Mind if I look around a little?” Praktash asked.  
”Sure, just stay close. Nar, it's not this one either.”  
  
Praktash walked along the line of stalls, examining the tables laden with dried herbs, lumps of resin, oddly shaped twigs, bottles filled with sap and bowls filled with powdered bark, roots or flower petals. Graznikh had his purse so he could not buy anything, but he did take mental note of what he could not recognise or had to stock up on. There were stalls selling equipment as well; he drooled a little over a fancy set of surgeon's tools, made in blueish-black steel with dark red wooden handles. _I wouldn't have time to experiment on the road anyway, an' I don't wanna carry too much extra stuff.  
_ Outside a lavish townhouse in a secluded side street that smelled heavily of incense was a colourful silk canopy stretched out so that it covered a large part of the street. Laughter and moans could be heard from inside and there was the unmistakable scent of rut lingering over the whole place. A group of scantily clad men and women reclined on a carpet littered with pillows underneath the canopy, conversing quietly while giving passers-by inviting smiles. All of them had face tattoos of some kind, varying from a little diamond-shape below the outer corner of the eye to complex triangular patterns covering the cheeks. Praktash thought he recognised the markings from somewhere, but he could not recall. When they spotted him, the smiles disappeared. One of the men, a tark whose skin and hair were so pale that they were nearly white, gave him an unsure smile and a nod. Praktash returned it and sauntered over, squatting down outside the carpet. ”Hey... What is this place?”  
”This is a place of joy and comfort,” one of the men replied.  
”We provide cures for loneliness, sadness...” a woman continued.  
”...Or just a rough fuck, if that's what you fancy,” the pale tark said with a grin that Praktash mirrored.  
”I've never seen so many tattoos,” another of the women said. ”Are you a joyworker too?”  
”In a way,” Praktash said while running his fingers through his hair. ”Officially I'm a healer an' drugdealer, but my master won't say no to a little,” he held two fingers up and flicked his black tongue inbetween them, ”once in a while.” A few of the women giggled nervously or looked away as he winked at them.  
”You work for someone in particular then?” the pale tark asked.  
”Top-rankin' High Officer,” Praktash replied. ”But I'm off-duty now. Just checkin' the market.”  
”No offense meant, but what are you?” one of the younger men asked. ”If I was to guess I'd say you were an Orc, but those I've spoken to on the matter said that Orcs are ugly.”  
Praktash gave him a lopsided grin, baring a fang. ”I'm better than that; I'm a Black Uruk.”  
The 'joyworkers' shied away a little, all except the pale tark.  
”I have heard rumours about the elite warriors of the Great Tower, but I had never thought to see one of them here of all places!”  
”High Officer's business,” Praktash explained. ”Important mission an' all that; that's when they call us Uruks in.”  
”So you are the best of the best,” a woman with a far too nasal voice murmured seductively. ”Are you best at other things as well..?”  
”Maybe,” Praktash replied with a shrug. I haven't fucked 'em all yet, so I can't say.”  
”The key word here being 'yet', I suppose?” the pale tark commented with a smirk. ”I am Anwar.”  
”I bet you are...”  
”And you are..?”  
”Praktash.”  
Anwar frowned. ”Paa-tash?”  
”Nar,” Praktash snickered. ”Prr-aak-taa-sh!”  
”Pu-jak-taa-zhh,” one of the women tried. Praktash rolled his eyes.  
”Prr! Not 'jj', 'prr'! Prr-aktash.”  
”Prr-” Anwar gurgled and began to cough. ”I cannot even make that sound!” he exclaimed. ”It seems more akin to a sound a wild beast would make than any tongue of Men.”  
”Maybe 'cause it's _not_ from a 'tongue of Men',” Praktash retorted. ”Do us a favour an' never try to learn Black Speech. You'd bloody mangle it.”  
”I've never pretended to be the studying kind,” Anwar replied with a smile.  
”Unless the customer wanted that kind of performance,” another man commented.  
”There is that,” Anwar admitted.  
  
”But you did not come here only to talk, did you?” Praktash glanced at the one who had spoken and felt a chill run down his spine; the woman had golden-brown skin, black, curly hair and hazel brown eyes; a combination he had seen before and never wanted to see again. ”Is there nothing else you would like to do?” She slowly ran a finger further and further up her leg, exposing herself with an inviting smile.  
”Sorry,” Praktash replied, struggling to keep his face and voice neutral. ”I doubt any of you could afford my services.”  
”Listen to that!” Anwar exclaimed and laughed. ”You have some nerve, coming here and expecting _us_ to pay for _your_ services!”  
”Well, you've no idea what services I could offer,” Praktash retorted with a little leer. He decided to play a little; his eyes roamed the carpeted area until they fixed on one of the large yellow candles that burned in the tall candelabra near the center of the area. He took one of them and turned to his little audience with a wide grin.  
”Now; I bet the lot of ya have taken some things down your throats before. Some of ya might even be good at it. But none of ya will _ever_ reach my level. Ever.”  
”Is that so?” The hazel-eyed woman said. ”And I supposed you can prove it.”  
”I'm not the braggin' kind,” Praktash replied. ”I'll _prove_ to ya that I can put out this candle.”  
The joyworkers exchanged a few confused looks; Anwar looked puzzled while the hazel-eyed woman smiled slyly.  
”With my lips,” he added. ”From the bottom,” he pointed at the lower end of the candle, ”all the way to the top. Without choking... even once.”  
Now the joyworkers were staring.  
”Impossible!” the young man said. ”That is impossible!”  
Praktash chuckled. ”Y'think?”  
”I must say I am with Tardir-hê on this,” Anwar said. ”I do not think you can do it. Not without choking.”  
”Well then,” Praktash said. ”Can't have ya call me a liar, now can I?” With that, he tilted his head back and lifted the candle to his lips.

”We do not see many Orcs here,” the perfume trader said as he led Graznikh into the tent where the rarer and more expensive stock was kept. ”I'm surprised they let you in at all.”  
Graznikh shrugged. ”I figured a High Officer's Lug-snaga would get a free pass. Servant,” he added in response to the trader's quizzical look. ”'Specially after said Officer told the khagan to sit down and shut up in front o' the whole court.”  
”Ah.” The man winced as he opened a crate with a crowbar. ”I thought I heard some raised voices from the pavilion this morning. That usually only happens when the debates at court reaches a high.”  
”What's a pavilion?”  
”A place where the nobility go to socialise in a more relaxed setting.”  
”I bet it involves drinking.”  
”I hear you are a well-travelled Orc.”  
”I don't get you folks. What's up with all the fancy names for shit? If it's an alehouse, then call it an alehouse!”  
”Say it like it is, hm?” The trader smiled stoically. ”Perhaps if you were a citizen and could collect enough names to instigate a Vote of the Commons... Though I suspect that more than one noble would faint from shock if you actually managed that.”  
”Good,” Graznikh said with a leer. ”I'd like to see that.”  
”As would many of those who live outside the gates, I'm sure.”  
”Hold on,” Graznikh said after sniffing another jar. ”What's this about a vote?”  
”It is the government's way of avoiding riots and civil unrest that would be detrimental for trade,” the merchant replied. ”If a decision is unpopular or if enough citizens want to bring about a minor change, they can instigate a Vote of the Commons. It is an event where all citizens have the opportunity to speak their mind about the decision at hand, usually through a 'yes' or 'no' vote. The khagan still has the final say, but ignoring the Vote of the Commons is highly inadvisable. Assassins tend to earn a lot of gold when that happens.”  
Graznikh tried to imagine the denizens of Lugburz suddenly having a say in how to run things and the utter mayhem that would follow. ”Must be a Man thing,” he muttered. ”So what's up with those hooded fellows with beads in their hair?”  
”Wine traders from Dorwinion,” the merchant replied with a faint scowl. ”I know little else; they tend to keep to themselves.”  
Graznikh could not pick up the man's scent among the heavy mist of perfume that lingered in the tent, but he got the feeling that he did not like them. _Better keep that in mind, in case it's a common sentiment. Might come in handy at some point._  
  
”Speaking o' alehouses... ya know any what might let an Orc or two in through its door?”  
”None within the city gates, I can tell you that much right away. Try the outer city... though I should warn you; some of the residents there are refugees from villages that were destroyed by roving Orc bands. They will not recognise any sign of appointment you carry and will no doubt see you as the cause of their misery.”  
”Why warn me? Why d'you care what happens to an Orc?”  
The trader gave him a stern look. ”Make no mistake; I bear little love for your kind. But the people out there are peasants, road-pavers and ditch-diggers. They would stand little change against an armed Orc; even if they managed to take you down, you would take far more with you. Not to mention the punishment they would suffer for attacking a High Officer's pet. I do not do this for you; I do this for _them._ They do not deserve that kind of suffering.”  
Graznikh leered. ”Well, at least you're bloody honest about it! Kinda refreshing, after all the lick-spittling I wade through back in Lugburz.”  
He chuckled at the merchant's surprised look. ”What? Thought you'd piss me off? Sorry to disappoint ya; it'll take far worse than that to set me off.”  
”I... must confess it was not the reaction I expected,” the merchant said. ”You are surprisingly restrained for an Orc... Or rather, from what I've heard of Orcs in general.”  
”Glad ya think so! Then you can tell your muscles back behind the tent to relax'n stand down; they're breathing loud enough for half the market to hear.”  
Now the trader was staring, mouth open. A few half-choked sounds from behind the tent cloth confirmed Graznikh's suspicions and he gave him a knowing grin.  
”How... How did you..?”  
”If there's anything I've learned from Mannish traders, it's this; you _never_ talk back to an Orc like this if you don't think you've got enough blades to back that talk up with. I've no quarrel with you or anyone else here; all I want is that blasted salve. And to find me an alehouse that'll serve me a drink not laced with poison.”  
The trader laughed nervously. ”That is good to hear. I suppose things got overly tense there, for a bit.”  
”Ya don't say... Anyway, if you don't have that salve, I'll go look for my buddy. And send my regards to the witch, if ya write her.”  
The trader frowned. ”What witch?”  
”No idea,” Graznikh grinned. ”Can't know that there _isn't_ a witch somewhere, can I?”  
The trader stared after him in utter bewilderment as he left the tent, took a deep breath of fresh air and headed for the next perfumer's stall.  
  
  
All was silent; it was as though even the sounds of the bustling bazaar were hushed and far away. There was a brief hiss and a wisp of smoke rose from Praktash's lips as they finally closed around the open flame. He did almost choke, however, when the joyworkers suddenly began to clap their hands, whoop and laugh.  
”That was incredible!” Anwar exclaimed. ”I never thought you would actually do it!”  
”I've done worse things,” Praktash replied after pulling the now slightly soft candle out of his throat. ”Better too. This was somewhere in the middle.”  
”So what is your preference?” the hazel-eyed woman asked. ”Was the 'between fingers' only false advertisement?”  
”No idea what that means.” He laughed a little as she held up two fingers in front of her face. ”Oh, that! Nar, that's only for my master. She's a special little lady; can't say 'nar' to her. As for the rest...” He gave Anwar a sultry glance, ”let's say I prefer the sword over the sheath, if y'know what I mean.” Then he started as someone began to clap slowly behind his back.  
”An impressive performance,” the 'someone' said. Praktash turned around and looked up into cold, blue eyes that peered out of a deep hood. The stranger wore heavy, black robes and an intricate steel mask that hid most of his features; all Praktash could make out was the scent, which told him that the stranger was male and a roundear.  
”Mysterious stranger,” Anwar said reverently. ”I did not think you would return!” He began to rise, but the stranger held out a gloved hand to stop him.  
”You need not rise this time, Anwar. As much as I have missed you, there are other... opportunities.” He reached down to brush the tip of Praktash's ear, and Praktash felt a very familiar tingling sensation at the touch. _Oh, this might be good!  
_ ”As I said; a very impressive performance,” the masked one said. ”Have you been here for long?”  
”Only just arrived,” Praktash replied.  
”Mysterious stranger, this one isn't-” Anwar began, but fell quiet when the man turned his head towards him.  
”Did I tell you to rise? Then dare not interfere again!” Anwar swiftly sat back down with an apology. The masked one gestured for the building. ”Shall we..?”  
_Sorry Graz,_ Praktash thought as he followed the stranger. _I'm not gonna give this one up, not after all the bullyin' I've been through lately. No strings attached is just what I need right now!_  
  
The inside of the building was far more lavish than its outer shell inferred. Smoke and incense lay heavy in the air; every inch of the floor was covered in carpets that were if not as luxurious as those in the palace, a decent substitute although they were bleached and discoloured here and there and riddled with little burn marks and drops of cold wax from the currently unlit chandeliers in the ceiling. The masked stranger spoke with a young man who seemed to be a servant rather than a joyworker; he had only a tiny, triangular tattoo below his left eye. _The fuck's up with those tattoos? An' where have I seen them before?  
_ After dropping a small bag full of coins in the confused man's hand, the stranger led the way up a narrow flight of stairs and into a room furnished only with a large bed at the center.  
Once the door was closed and barred, Praktash turned to the cloaked man. He smelled both nervous and excited with the latter growing in intensity as Praktash came up close behind him and fingered his shoulders.  
”So,” Praktash whispered as he pulled the hood of the cloak down and pressed his lips against his ear. ”You want a suck or a fuck?”  
”A-a f... F...”  
”Fuck, hmm?” The cloak slipped off the man's shoulders, revealing silk and velvet worthy of royalty. ”Top or bottom?”  
The man tried to toughen up a little. ”Do I have a choice?” he asked jokingly.  
”Nar, not really,” Praktash murmured against his neck as he began to unbuckle his armour. The man turned towards him with an annoyed frown.  
”You have no right to speak to me like that. I paid for you!”  
Praktash leered. ”You paid for _them,_ not me. I didn't get anythin'.”  
The man stared at him for a brief moment and his eyes widened as he spotted the Lug-snaga collar. He sprung towards the door, but Praktash caught him from behind and jumped backwards into bed with the man in his arms, tearing the steel mask off and covering his mouth with a hand so that he could not scream. The man struggled frantically and it felt like an eternity had passed before he finally calmed down enough to notice that Praktash had made no move to molest him.  
”You done?” Praktash murmured in his ear. The man said something that was impossible to discern because of the hand covering his mouth. ”Good! Now here's the thing; you smell kinda official. Look the part too, with all those fancy robes. I've no plan to get into _that_ kinda trouble, seein' as I'm kinda official too. So I'm givin' ya this one chance to choose. Nod, and there's no goin' back; you'll get the fuck of your lifetime an' I'll make sure you enjoy it too. Shake your head an' I'm out; I won't tell an' I won't recognise ya in case we bump into each other again. Take your time, make up your mind.”

With that, he removed his hand from the man's mouth but remained sprawled on top of him. He nuzzled his neck and ear while waiting and tried to figure out what that odd scent was. There was the scent of Man of course, but there was something else as well; it was fresh, sweet and sour at the same time with a woodsy hint but very subtle; hardly noticeable unless one was up close.  
”What is that scent? The one that's in your hair?”  
”Um... It's p-pomade.”  
”Pomade, huh? What's it for?”  
”It is said to make the hair grow faster. It also makes it softer.”  
”You do have soft hair... Did you buy it at the market?”  
The man laughed a little. ”This is hardly a product you find at a regular market. It's imported directly to the royal court.”  
”So you're a royal, hmm?” Praktash felt the man freeze underneath him.  
”I didn't say that!”  
”So how does a servant get his hands on royal pomade? Steal it?”  
”Of course not! I... I didn't come here to talk.”  
”Nar? Then why _did_ you come here?”  
The man opened his mouth to reply, but the only sound coming out of it was a shuddering sigh as Praktash began to explore his ear with his tongue.  
”Smells like you've already made up your mind,” Praktash murmured. ”Smells like you want it...”  
”I-I've never...”  
Praktash grinned. ”Never bottom, or never at all?”  
”Never b-bo... bottom.”  
”...Oh. Well, sorry in advance then.”  
The man frowned. ”What?”  
”You're gonna be spoiled rotten after this. Never gonna want another tark again. Y'know what they say; 'once you go black, you never go back'.”  
”I've... never heard that saying before.”  
”...Right. Maybe they don't have that many Black Uruks 'round here.”  
”...You are the first I've seen.”  
”Then you _are_ gonna be spoiled rotten...”


	17. Her Elevated Ladyship

Eventually, Graznikh had to give up. _She probably wouldn't like it anyway,_ he thought as he left the perfume-seller's stall. _Half the time I can't figure her out, and the other half she's pissed at me.  
_ Soon he found that Praktash was nowhere in sight and cursed loud enough to earn himself a few appalled glances from nearby shoppers. _Yeah, you glare. I bet your mum still washes your mouth with soap when you say something even half as nasty._ Someone had once told him that tark mothers did that to their spawn when they used 'bad words'. It seemed like a ridiculous thing to do; if anything, the taste would warrant more curses, not less.  
Praktash was not exactly the kind of guy who could easily blend into a crowd, so Graznikh decided to ask around a little until he found someone who could put him on the right trail. The strange 'Dorwinians' seemed to have deserted the place for the night at first, but at one point he found himself next to one as he questioned a shop keeper on Praktash's whereabouts. The moment he caught the stranger's scent he felt a chill run down his spine; a brief glance at the alien face confirmed what he had already suspected. _Elf. Knew I'd seen these fuckers someplace before!_ He turned away as inconspicuously as he could and sauntered down a side street. _These 'dorrywinnies' are Elves! Makes sense; someone shot Sulmurz, but that arrow was meant for Záhovar. And now Praktash's gone missing... Sha buddy, if they got you too..!_ His steps seemed to lengthen on their own and after turning around a corner he crouched and waited. Moments later, the Elf came the same way and Graznikh grabbed it by the throat and slammed it hard against the brick wall.  
”Gimme one good reason why I shouldn't slit yer throat right now, golug!”  
”For if you do, your slow death will be a warning to any and all who hear about it.”  
Graznikh cursed under his breath; the voice did not belong to the one he had caught and the edge of the blade at his neck was so thin that he could barely feel it. _Caught like a fucking beginner..._ Even if he managed to avoid the blade, dodge the counterattack and slam his knife into the other Elf's gut, the one who had followed him was probably armed as well. He had held his ground against Whindaër when they had sparred; Záhovar had proved a trickier opponent because of her lack of 'Elven honour', but he had never fought two Elves at once. He was outnumbered and at this point, words were more useful weapons.  
”Kill me and you'll get all o' Lugburz on yer tail,” he said. ”You think your little wine-garden could stop that black storm?”  
The Elf with the blade said something Graznikh could not understand to the first, who shook his head as he stepped out of his reach. At least Graznikh thought it was a 'he'.  
”The sanctity of the market peace is laid down in law,” the Elf with the blade said, ”by the khagan and the Grove both. We have no intention of breaking it. If your mistress has neglected to inform you of proper conduct, then that is her mistake and hers alone.”  
”Oho. You fucking started this by trying to kill her the moment we entered this place! And now you've taken my buddy too.”  
The Elf who had followed him gave him a look of purest disdain. ”Your green-eyed companion is in a building near the Flower Bazaar. Look for the one with a silk tent outside.”  
”And how do I know this isn't a trap?” Graznikh snarled.  
The other Elf gave him a wry smile. ”You do not.” Then they left at speed. Graznikh vented some steam on the innocent wall before turning back towards the Flower Bazaar, where many of the stalls and shops had finally closed for the night.  


Afterwards, Praktash decided that it was one of the lousier fucks he had had. The man acted like a complete amateur and was more than a bit awkward, but not in the hot way that Sulmurz was. He spunked long before Praktash did and even tried to make him stop before he had finished even once. Praktash had eventually settled for a wank instead.  
Once the man was asleep, he sneaked out of bed. The robes he had worn had many pockets on the inside, just as expected; Praktash carefully searched them to avoid poisoned needles and other nasty surprises. Soon he found was he was looking for; a needle, the tip stuck into a cork to not hurt the wielder while it remained in the pocket, along with a tiny bottle that undoubtedly contained some kind of smell- and tasteless poison. There was no note of course; that would have been far too crude and amateurish. _Still, whoever's behind this knew how to get at me. Probably expected me to pass out first, which shows they don't know how Uruks work. Doesn't matter; I know how to make 'em talk._ He put the needle and bottle in his own belt pocket and returned to snuggle down beside his new catch.

After a while, the man woke up. ”I didn't... sleep for too long, did I?”  
”Nar, I figured you might need some shut-eye,” Praktash replied softly and nuzzled his ear. Then he rolled out of bed. The man watched him as he dressed with an unreadable expression.  
”What?” Praktash asked without looking up.  
”You're not what I expected.”  
”What'd you expect?”  
”Not an Uruk, that is for sure.”  
Praktash began to chuckle and had to sit down. ”An' what the fuck did you think I was back there? A butterfly?”  
”No,” the man replied with a wry smile. ”But at times joyworkers will change their appearance to appeal to those with... exotic tastes.”  
”So now I'm an exotic butterfly? I don't like the way this is goin'.”  
”Fair enough! What is a collared Black Uruk doing posing as a joyworker? If you are a spy you're not doing a very good job of it.”  
Now Praktash laughed out loud. ”If I wanted to know stuff I woulda drugged ya to the point where you told me all your deepest, darkest thoughts an' fantasies! Then I woulda used 'em as blackmail to get what I wanted. Or poisoned ya an' dangled the cure in front of your eyes as you watched the skin melt from your hands. That might've been entertainin'.” The man fidgeted uncomfortably and he shot him a leer. ”Nar, I was just fishin' for a free fuck... An' I got one. Good for me, right?”  
”It was hardly free. I paid for it, or for the room if not for the rest.”  
”Trust me little tark, you're not the first to pay for my services.” He licked the corner of his mouth and chuckled as the man scowled at him.  
”So you _are_ a joyworker, only a specialised one.”  
”If ya like.” Praktash continued strapping his armour in place and groaned when he realised that he had forgotten to put his boots on. He sat down and got to it with some effort; the Uruk armour was not made to easily bend forward in. A frightened sound from the bed broke the silence.  
”What is this?!”  
Praktash looked up. ”What's what?”  
The man had noticed that his backside, as well as much of the bed, was covered with semen. Now he stared at his black-stained hand with mingled horror and disgust.  
”It's black! Why is it black?!”  
”Why is it...” Praktash dropped his boot as he began to laugh.  
His temporary bed partner gave him an insulted scowl. ”This is no laughing matter!”  
”It's _spunk,_ ” Praktash eventually managed to say. ”Orc blood's black, Orc spunk's black too!”  
”But... why?”  
”Whaddya mean 'why'? I don't know, it's just the way things are. You wanna know the 'why' of things, go take it up with the Eye!”  
”That is preposterous! I will not go to the Dark Lord and ask him why Orc... I mean, why that... _fluid_ is black!”  
”'Fluid'...” Praktash snickered. ”Figured as much. I guess you just have to live with not knowin'.”  
”You have no manners!”  
”An' what the fuck did you expect? Flowers an' poetry?”  
The man fell back down on the bed. ”I suppose not...” He turned to look at Praktash as he stood. ”You are leaving then?”  
”Wasn't plannin' on styin' here all night. My buddy's probably already pissed at me for ditchin' him. An' my master'd cry if I didn't show up to warm the bed.”  
”Who is he?”  
Praktash's only reply was a sly leer.  
”Alright then,” the man muttered. ”Keep your secrets!”  
  
Praktash chuckled as he walked across the room and picked up the steel mask he had thrown there. ”This is nice... Would do well on my wall back home. Mind if I keep it as a memory?”  
The man tensed up. ”That is the mark of my office; I cannot leave this room without it!”  
”Really?” Praktash traced the fine lines on it with his finger. He thought he recognised the pattern, but could not say where he had seen it before. _Why is this happenin' over an' over? Why do I recognise stuff I've never seen before?_ ”What 'office' is that?”  
”I cannot tell you. It would defeat the point of wearing a mask, wouldn't it?”  
”It might... Only you said you couldn't leave the room without it.”  
The man frowned. ”What are you..?”  
”I figure I'm gonna keep this,” Praktash told him with a bright smile. ”I'm sure someone in this bagronk of a town can tell me what it's used for. Or pay a nice sum for it, lackin' the info.”  
”What?! No! No, you can't!”  
”Watch me.”  
The man jumped out of the bed to bar the door with his naked frame. ”I will not allow it!” he said sternly.  
Praktash cocked his head and gave certain parts of him a fond look. ”It's funny how you tarks're all fuzzy down there. I wonder why that is?”  
”Are you even listening to me?!”  
”Hmm..? Wasn't listenin'; did you say somethin'?”  
”You must give me that mask!”  
”What? Oh, this old thing?” He waved it around a little. ”I bet you know _just_ the right words. Y'know, the ones that'll make me drop this thing in your hands an' walk out not rememberin' a single word of what you said.”  
The man began to look desperate. ”You... conniving, wicked, nasty-”  
”Those are _not_ the right words.”  
”No!!” he exclaimed as Praktash took a step forward. ”Please..!” He took a deep breath and met the eyes of the leering Black Uruk. ”...Fine. I'll talk.”  
Praktash gave him a look of saintly patience.  
”I-I don't know where to begin...”  
”Name,” Praktash suggested. ”Line o work, the point of this steely face-cage...”  
”Nav-Alisher... I'm a priest.”  
Praktash arched an eyebrow. ”Priest?”  
”Yes... In the Temple of the One. Doctrine demands that we give up our identities while serving, at least in the eyes of the flock. We are all one in the One, we are the same and we all carry the burden of loss. Thus the masks. All priests in the Temple wear them.” He winced. ”I... did not mean to take it off in here either; I never did before.”  
”So you've always fucked with the mask on? An' had them all call ya 'Mysterious Stranger'? That's _cute!_ ”  
”Perhaps,” Nav-Alisher replied with a nervous chuckle.  
”But that name's bloody impossible to say. Can I call ya 'Alice'?”  
Nev-Alisher gave him a horrified look. ”Most certainly not!”  
”It wasn't really a question. I'm the guy with the mask, remember?”  
Nev-Alisher groaned.  
”So you're a priest... what's your rankin'? High, low...? In the middle?”  
”Not very high.”  
”Mmn... Those fancy clothes told a different tale.” Praktash stood and backed the naked priest up against the door. ”I don't like liars,” he whispered in his face.  
”I'm no liar! The younger members of the khagan's families often take up the priest robe or the sword of the Junayd; it is a career opportunity outside of the nobility's rules and limitations!”  
”Now _those_ are some proper sweet words...” Praktash leered and Nev-Alisher froze as he caught the door handle behind his back. ”Now you might wanna think fast,” he whispered. ”I hear a bunch o' folks outside that door. An' if you don't tell me who sent ya to kill me, I'll open that door an' toss ya out there.”  
”How did you-”  
”Wrong. Answer.”  
”I-I don't know his name!!” Nev-Alisher was so afraid that he whistled when he whispered. ”We never use our names when we wear the masks! All I know is that he is of higher rank than I, and-”  
”Why?”  
”I don't know. Please, you have to believe me! I only followed orders!”  
Praktash couldn't believe how easy this 'priest' was to manipulate; he actually clung to him as he beamed and slowly, slowly pushed the handle down...  
”Wait!! I can help you!”  
He let the handle go and instead gave Nev-Alisher's rear a fond squeeze. ”Yesss..?”  
”I could... take you to him. Or at least... tell you where he stays. Or give you intel from the Temple's doings, or-”  
Praktash let his buttocks go and stepped back abruptly, almost tripping the man.  
”You really have a way with words, Alice! Such a sweet-talker; I like that! Here.” He pushed the mask into the stunned man's hand. ”Enjoy your mask. I'm outta here.”  
”But... How will I contact you?”  
”Doesn't matter; I'll find ya when I need ya. I got ways.”

  
The building the Elves had described was not hard to find. Graznikh felt a little sick as he spotted it; the fear that the Golug had pointed him in the right direction only because they had already finished Praktash off refused to leave him alone.  
As he approached, he found the door guarded by a tark that was even paler than the rest of his kind. Graznikh choked back a growl as the old hate welled up inside him; his fingers itched to close around that white neck, to dig his claws into it and drink in the sight of sweet, red blood trickling down... He shook his head to clear it.  
The tark had already spotted him and Graznikh could see his neck twitch as he swallowed. The smell of the tark's fear did not make it easier to resist the bloodlust, but he kept it in check with the exception of his slavering mouth and shaking hands.  
”Oi,” he called, barely keeping the growl out of his voice. ”Ya speak Common?”  
The pale tark took his sweet time to reply, but eventually he nodded rapidly. ”Yes... Yes I do. Can I help you?”  
”I'm looking for my buddy; Black Uruk, red hair, green eyes, got tattoos and steel spikes all over his face. Some pointy-eared Dorry-winnies said he'd be in here.”  
The tark frowned like a lackwit. ”Dorry-winnies..?” He sobered up as Graznikh bared his fangs. ”Um, he-he is here. But... he is busy at the moment.”  
”Busy how?”  
”He is... entertaining a customer.”  
Graznikh gave him a blank stare. _Customer..? The fuck?_ ”What, you hired him on behalf o' his pretty face? Get the fuck outta my way, _tark,_ or I'll throw ya outta it! In bits'n pieces!”  
”I cannot..!” the tark began, but immediately realised his mistake and stepped aside with an apology.  
”Keep the flower-words to yerself,” Graznikh growled as he stomped past him.  
The inside was quite a sight, but Graznikh was too jacked up on adrenaline to care. He declined all offers to bring him drinks but as a tray floated past him, carried by a woman who was more naked than dressed, his nostrils flared. She turned completely white as he stopped her and took one of the little pieces of raw meat stuffed with mushrooms and chopped herbs from the tray and ate it slowly in front of her, finishing off by twirling his black tongue around a claw with a 'come-hither' leer. Graznikh felt decidedly better afterwards and squatted beside the door to wait for his buddy.  
  
Praktash hummed to himself as he walked down the stairs. It was amazing what a good fuck could do; his steps felt lighter than they had since he first set foot in the city. In a corner of the hallway he happened to throw a glance in one of the many mirrors and froze. Only now did he understand why the joyworkers' facial tattoos had seemed so familiar. _Those bastards copied my look! Or... Did I copy theirs..?_ He stared at his own image, so different from those of other Uruks and so _wrong,_ and felt his guts twist. Then he shoved the implications away. _Nar. Not now! I'm gonna feel good for a while, to the pits with that stupid face o' mine!_  
Graznikh was waiting for him near the entrance and Praktash shot him a wide grin. ”Hey buddy!”  
”Next time you're gonna bolt, mind telling me aforehand? I near got myself killed while looking for ya!”  
The smile disappeared from Praktash's lips. ”I didn't plan on ditchin' ya like that, it just... happened. Wait, someone tried to-”  
”Aye, we can discuss that later. I'm just glad I didn't find _you_ in a puddle of your own blood.”  
”More like a puddle of my own spunk. Let's go back; I'm hungry.”  
Graznikh chuckled as they left the whorehouse. ”You sure fit right in there, didn'tcha buddy?”  
Praktash shook his head. ”Nar, not really. It's fun to play around a little at times, let off steam, y'know... But in the end I prefer what I already have. Wouldn't wanna trade that for anythin'.” Then he grinned. ”It's all your fault, y'know? You an' 'Zat. I used to take whatever I could get, but you've gone an' spoiled me!”  
”How so?”  
”It's not as fun when they don't want it.”  
”Except for...”  
”Sully _does_ want it,” Praktash chuckled. ”He just doesn't know it yet. I bet that Anwar guy woulda rolled over for me, but it was so obvious that he was fakin' it. Same with the rest of them; they didn't really wanna fuck, it was all 'bout the tokens.”  
”You used to do that too.”  
”Yeah, I'm not sayin' it's wrong! I don't give a shit 'bout that. I'm just sayin' I don't want it for myself, not anymore. I like bein' able to... say no...” He trailed off with a scowl.  
Graznikh immediately picked up on his change of mood. ”Buddy? What's wrong?”  
”Mûrna jumped me in the pond,” Praktash said quietly after a moment's hesitation. ”When you an' Sully were busy with Záhovar.”  
”And why is he still standing up? He was fine at breakfast!”  
”'Cause he had me by the neck!” Praktash snapped. ”It's not like I had a fuckin' choice.”  
”Wasn't talking 'bout ya; why did the krîtar not interfere?”  
”Why would he do anythin'?” Praktash stopped to lean against a corner. Nearby, a little natural spring poured out of the cobblestones at the center of a shallow pond, set with walls of stone. Graznikh squatted down beside it and took a few sips; it was cool and clear. ”I gave in, problem solved. He won't mess with the pack rules.”  
”Fuck the rules!” Graznikh snarled. ”You were doing fine without them! I know Záhovar thinks you need toughening, but I don't agree with her. I think you're fine the way you are.”  
”Wait, what? Záhovar thinks I should toughen up?”  
Graznikh immediately wished he had shut up. _Shit!!_ ”I didn't mean it like th-”  
”So Záhovar thinks I'm weak?” Praktash said and began to growl. ”Is this 'cause I didn't follow up on that compulsion trainin'? Or 'cause I didn't follow her stupid rule not to mess with Sully?”  
”I don't know!” Graznikh replied. ”I didn't know she planned to do this to ya! She never tells me her plans; I've no idea where she is now or what she's doing! Or what we're supposed to do! And I figure Margzat's not far off the same bloody track.”  
”Tell me 'bout it,” Praktash growled. ”I'm so fed up with his 'pack this' an' 'pack that'. Fuck the pack!”  
”Fuck Officers!” Graznikh chimed in.  
”KARKATULÛK!!” they both roared.  
After catching his breath, Praktash chuckled a little. ”Skai, that felt good!”  
Graznikh nodded with a grin. ”Wanna go sample the local booze? If we're lucky, we might get into a fight too.”  
”Sounds good. You got a lead?”  
”Not yet; we'll just hafta sniff our way there.”  
”Great! Lead the way, snaga!”  
”Watch it, tark-rutter, or I'll have ya sniff the dirt next!”

  
The library was quiet, except for the whisper of footsteps near and far and the turning of pages. So it was that Akûl's sudden warning growl made Záhovar start more than she had wanted to. After touching the thick fur at his neck to keep him from rising, she let the map roll up in her hands before looking up at the intruder. The cassock revealed the visitor as a priest, from the Temple of the One judging by the meaning of the Maushur runes decorating the stole around his shoulders and the fact that he wore a polished steel mask that covered the lower part of his face. His neck was striped with dark colour, as if he was bleeding from underneath it.  
”Lug-durbatar,” the Man greeted with a deep bow. Záhovar could sense the power in his voice as he spoke; here was a sorcerer who could have been a High Officer had his life not steered him onto the path to priesthood.  
”Do forgive me for not paying my respects earlier,” he continued. ”I was only informed of your arrival yesterday. I am Hanikh, vice high priest of the One and steadfast servant of Lugburz. I and all those beneath me are at your command, should you require it.”  
”Your devotion is well known and highly spoken of in Lugburz,” Záhovar replied. ”I am Záhovar.”  
Hanikh's eyes widened slightly and Záhovar thought she heard him whisper; ”so it is true...” but the mask distorted the sound so she could not be certain. ”Allow me to extend an invitation,” he said, returning to his normal tone of voice. ”A dinner gathering, for you and a select few others. In case it falls within your interest to acquire new contacts among the priesthood.”  
_I wonder if Eälaion set him up to this? Although... This man leads a rival cult. Perhaps I should not suspect him of pulling all the strings._ Then she had an idea and had to resist smirking. _Perhaps I shall test his loyalty? See how faithful he truly is._  
”I might... Would it offend you if I brought a few of my closest servants as well? Recent events have revealed a breach in the city's security, and the guards have not yet caught the culprit.”  
”Yes, I was informed of the mishap at the gate. Such a heinous act of treason will not go unpunished, that I assure you. You were not present at the latest gathering, but I insisted that the khagan view this as a religious crisis; that would give the Junayd free hands to begin an investigation.”  
The Junayd, Záhovar recalled, was the militant branch of the Rhûnish priesthood, a kind of knightly order bound by oath to serve the clergy and Lugburz. In the early days of the khaganate each temple had had its own standing army and religious disputes often led to minor civil wars. Khamûl had changed that, taking the temples' armies and joining them into a single, more efficient force. The added might of the wainriders had given the declining khaganate a burst of military vitality which had consumed many of its smaller neighbours. Had the inland Sea of Rhûn not been disconnected from the Western Sea and its shores not been peaceful enough not to warrant a fleet, the khaganate under Khamûl's rule might very well have rivalled Numenor in military power. Nowadays, the Junayd were mostly used to root out enemy spies and quell uprisings. Officially, Khamûl was still the head of the order, as well as high priest of the One, but he had not been seen in the khaganate for many long years.  
”As for your... servants, you do as you see fit. It is not my place to judge. Are these the Orcs that I have heard mentioned?”  
”Yes.” _So much for surprise...  
_ It was difficult to tell with the mask, but she thought Hanikh was smiling. ”Then... Perhaps I shall forget to mention them when I send the invitations to the others? It might be... _interesting_ to see their reactions when the time comes.”  
”I cannot condone such insidious behaviour,” Záhovar replied, ”but if you wish...”  
Hanikh nodded in understanding.  
”Tell me something,” Záhovar said as he turned to leave. ”You said that you would send invitations to the others. Why not simply send one to me as well?”  
”Unlike some of my fellow priests, I am not afraid to use my feet,” Hanikh replied. ”And it is not my way to send a lowly slave to treat with someone of higher standing than myself. Lug-durbatar,” he finished and bowed a final time.  
  
Shortly after Hanikh had left, another man approached. _No rest for the wicked,_ Záhovar thought as she let the map roll up once more. ”Yes?”  
” <Greetings, my Elevated Ladyship,>” the man said in Rhûnish. ”<Your servant told me that I could find you here. I am->”  
”<What servant?>”  
”<He did not introduce himself. Orc, sallow skin, grey hair, had two rings in his lower lip near each corner of his mouth.>”  
”<Very well. Speak.>”  
”<As you wish, my Elevated Ladyship. I am Sukhrab Ardeshir, esteemed scholar and collector of knowledge here at this Academy. I have travelled far and wide and spent many a late night penning down all there is to know about the many cultures and races that make up our world. But alas, I have sadly discovered a vast hole in our knowledge! And I hope, yes, it is my hope that you may be able to help me begin to fill that hole. For the betterment of us all!>”  
”<And what is this 'hole' you speak of? What kind of 'help' do you need?>”  
”<The Orcs, my Ladyship! For all the many volumes in this library, no one has before thought to study the Orcs and their culture. There are a few sketchy pamphlets at best. I, Sukhrab Ardeshir, intend to fill that hole.>”  
_This man is insane,_ Záhovar thought as she studied his over-eager face. _There have been numerous attempts to outline the Orcish 'culture' and they have all failed, for understandable reasons. But it may be an interesting failure to watch unfold._ ” <I see... That is an admirable goal. What is it you want of me, more specifically?>”  
”<I am relieved and honoured that you agree! Great minds think alike indeed!>”  
Záhovar snorted inwardly. _But fools seldom differ.  
_ ”<What I would ask is this; I hear and see that you have brought some Orcs with you on your journey. I would like to interview them, at an opportune moment of course.>”  
”<That could be arranged. Not now, perhaps, but when we pass again during the return journey. For now I have a more urgent matter that requires my attention.>”  
”<Of course! Of course.>” Ardeshir bowed repeatedly. ”<I thank you most reverently for your time and generosity, my Elevated Ladyship! I shall pray and wait with bated breath for your safe return. And that of your magnificent followers, of course.>”  
  
Záhovar breathed a sigh of relief when the scholar left. ”If this keeps up, I shall have no time for studying.”  
”Rhûn is an active city,” Ker-Naish said. ”I could send the next applicant away, if you wish not to be disturbed.”  
”No, I would rather see for myself the faces of those who seek me.” She leaned her elbows on the table and rubbed her temples. ”Though at times I wish there were fewer of them... I believe I shall call it a day.”  
”If you wish. Um...” ker-Naish hesitated.  
”Do you wish to ask me something?”  
”...Not precisely. It is more of an offer than a question, but I do not know if it's proper.”  
”I spend most of my time with Orcs. I doubt anything you say could offend me.”  
”Are they truly so foul-mouthed?”  
”You have no idea...”  
”Then perhaps an offer to accompany you for supper before you leave is not as inappropriate as I thought.”  
Záhovar looked up through her fingers. ”Is this another attempt to poison me? I'll have you know the previous ones failed.”  
Ker-Naish did not speak for a long while, but only stared at her with wide eyes. ”I take it this happens to you often?”  
”Too often for comfort.”  
”I have no such intentions, but I doubt my word would be taken at face value. After all, an assassin would not readily admit to the deed beforehand, would they?”  
”No,” Záhovar replied. ”They would not.” She gave the scholar a calculating look. ”Dinner, you say?”  
Ker-Naish nodded. Záhovar turned to Akûl. The warg seemed to be asleep, but when she called his name, he lifted his head to look at her.  
 _"Return home,"_ she said in Black Speech. _"Your services are no longer needed, and there is a meal waiting for you in the stable."_  
Akûl growled quietly in reply and stretched before trotting away. Záhovar turned back to the astonished Ker-Naish. ”Lead the way then.”  
  
They did not venture out into the streets; the Academy, Záhovar soon found, had its own fully staffed kitchen and a small pavilion. Ker-Naish did not take her there; after choosing from the buffet of various foodstuffs that was set up in the pavilion, they led the way into a smaller three-walled room that opened onto a little garden; one among many, set along a covered walkway and furnished with a table, four chairs and four cushioned armchairs on the porch.  
Záhovar eyed her place with some scepticism. The only thing of animal origin on it was some kind of egg that had been poached in a spicy, red sauce. The rest was all made up of various vegetables and grains. _It would seem the overseer was correct. 'Elevated society'..._  
She changed her mind a little as she ate. It was far more nourishing than it had seemed at first glance, and tasted far better than she had expected.  
”Many of the scholars have their meals delivered to their private quarters,” Ker-Naish explained. ”These rooms are for those not so privileged, but who prefer more privacy than can be found out in the pavilion.”  
”Lugburz has a similar setting,” Záhovar replied, ”except for these 'dining rooms'.”  
”I have heard that it is very segregated. That Men and Orcs live separately and have little contact during everyday life.”  
”That is true, for the most part. Orcs can be crude and very violent, and they are quick to gang up on anyone percieved as weak. Men are a minority and have their own enclave near the Tower proper which Orcs are forbidden from entering. The northern part of the realm is mainly populated by Orcs and Uruks, while the southern part is more mixed.”  
”What are... that word you used? U-rruks?”  
”Uruks, or Black Uruks to be specific. It is a kind of Orc that exist only in Lugburz. Simply put, they are larger, faster and less unruly than regular Orcs. Most of my contingent is made up of them.”  
”I see... If Ardeshir saw you enter the city he has probably already made detailed notes.”  
”Wonderful... I do hope he does not try to 'interview' them without my leave. That may end badly.”

”Do you drink?” Ker-Naish asked after the meal.  
”Occasionally,” Záhovar replied with a weary smile.  
”How often is 'occasionally'?”  
”On _every_ occasion. But if you seek to drink me under the table, I fear you will be sorely disappointed.”  
”I take it you hold your drink well?”  
”It is a prerequisite in my line of work. Orcs have something of an aversion to water. I may have sampled every beverage this side of the Sea, and found most of them wanting.”  
”Indeed? Then perhaps...” Ker-Naish said as they turned to the cupboard, ”... _this_ will be to your taste? I doubt it has passed your lips before; it is something of a local specialty.” When they returned, they held a finely crafted glass bottle.  
”And what is 'this' more precisely?”  
”Dorwinion White,” they replied. After placing the bottle on the table they took two glass goblets from the cupboard and filled them, then offered one to Záhovar. The liquid within was clear at first, but as she held it up towards the light the Sun's rays seemed to catch in it and break into pale, swirling rainbows. The taste was much the same; the first sip conjured up images of a cool forest after a spring rain, with a hint of both sweet flowers and sour berries. Záhovar could soon sense its potency; she felt herself relax and a weight seemed to lift from her shoulders.  
”This may be one of the most expensive beverages in the known world,” Ker-Naish said. Then they smirked. ”If someone had told me ten years ago that I would be sitting in the capital of Rhûn and share Dorwinion White with a High Officer, I would have believed them insane.”  
”Where were you ten years ago?”  
They shook their head. ”I was... entertainment. My parents thought me a freak of nature. They already had five 'normal' children, so when I was six years old they sold me to a travelling circus.”  
Záhovar frowned. ”I am not familiar with that word.”  
”Circus? It is a place where queer phenomena are put on display for paying customers.” Ker-Naish scowled as they continued. ” Everything that stands out of the ordinary is of interest to the showmen who runs them. Some specialise in animals, like white snakes, two-headed dogs or eight-legged horses. Others display people. People who are born disfigured, or too tall, too short, or women with beards... The circuses travel from village to village, giving 'normal' people something to be shocked or appalled by. The showman would have me change clothes before the audience, sometimes wearing a dress, sometimes trousers and a shirt, all the while the audience laughed or were disgusted by the sight.”  
”How did you escape?”  
Ker-Naish smiled. ”The circus came here, to Rhûn. A scholar came there, out of curiosity if one is to believe her. She took a liking to me, or pitied me; I do not know for sure. She prefers not to speak of it. But for whatever reason, she bought me. Offered the showman a price he could not refuse and me a place I could call 'home'. I have lived here ever since.”  
”Did you not simply trade one prison for another?” Záhovar asked. ”I cannot imagine that the populace of this city is much different from those of the villages you passed before.”  
Ker-Naish shook their head. ”Not at all! True, the people in the streets can be... crude, but scholars generally care little for appearance. We are all united by common interests. And I have already had my share of adventure with the circus. No, I am content here.” They looked up. ”And what of you? What were you doing ten years ago?”

Záhovar had to think for a while before she could answer. ”Ten years ago... I was in Khand. Well on my way to being married off to a man I despised.”  
”Is that why you went to Lugburz? To escape that fate?”  
She looked up. ”No, it was in the service of Lugburz that I was doing it.”  
Ker-Naish frowned. ”Then..?”  
”He died on our wedding night and rose again as one of the Nine.”  
”The... Nine? What are they?”  
”They are the souls of men... Great sorcerers and kings among Men, risen again to serve our Master. Given a second chance to aid in fulfilling His great plan.”  
Ker-Naish looked down with a troubled expression. ”I did hear some rumours,” they confessed, ”about the... About Khamûl. That he left because he was granted a seat at the side of the One.” They looked up again. ”Is that true?”  
”It is, but there is more to it. He was not only granted a seat; he was granted immortality. As was my... husband, I suppose. Our Master is generous beyond mortal imagination to those who serve Him.”  
”That is one way of putting it, I suppose,” Ker-Naish said carefully. ”But I don't think I would want that kind of generosity.”  
”No... No, I daresay you would not. Power always demands a high price. Sometimes it may be wise to ask if it is worth it.”  
”Is it?”  
Záhovar smiled slightly. ”I have not yet reached that kind of wisdom.”  
Ker-Naish returned the smile. They turned to lighter topics and continued talking well into the night. Even though Záhovar only sipped her drink, she could feel it affect her more and more, lightening her mood and loosening her tongue far beyond what she would normally allow. Eventually she decided to end things before they got out of hands. Even so, she had to support herself slightly on Akûl and trust the warg to lead her straight. _This is dangerous,_ she thought. _Not even Praktash's drug blends affect me like this._ She paused at a fountain and splashed her face in an attempt to sober up, but it helped little.  


She was still slightly tipsy when Graznikh and Praktash met her at the Academy gate.  
”You smell funny,” Praktash commented.  
”Perhaps I should have refrained from drinking that third glass,” Záhovar murmured.  
”Don't tell me someone finally managed to drink ya 'neath the table!” Graznikh exclaimed.  
”If so, I gotta shake the recipe off their backs,” Praktash snickered. ”Or at least the name of the drink. There'll be no more of you sittin' all passive when the rest of us pass out!”  
”And who will then tend the fire or guard the camp while you are incapacitated?”  
”How 'bout Sulmurz?” Graznikh grinned.  
”'Sully' falls asleep the moment he sits down and tries to focus on anything that is not dice!”  
”You called him 'Sully'!!” Praktash exclaimed and jumped around a little from excitement. ”Now I _know_ you're drunk!”  
”I am also exhausted. Let us return to the palace; that bed has never been more inviting.” She gasped as she slowly fell backwards, but Praktash caught her with a chuckle.  
”Easy there, Kafsokhôr; it's a long way down.”  
”It is 'Záhovar',” Záhovar protested as he lifted her back on her feet. ”Not Kafso-... What did you call me?!”  
”Kafsokhôrrr,” Praktash purred in her ear.  
”Which means..?” Graznikh asked. ”What? I haven't practiced that Black Speech in ages!”  
”It means 'morsel',” Praktash explained while rolling his eyes. ”Savage.”  
”Hravanya,” Záhovar whispered, her eyes distant.  
Graznikh felt a chill run down his spine. ”What?”  
She frowned and shook her head. ”I don't... feel so good.”  
”Probably just the booze talkin',” Praktash chimed in. ”C'mon; let's get us all into bed!”  
”I am too tired for that!”  
”What?” he asked innocently. ”I thought you wanted to sleep.”  
”You-... Oh.”  
”Now I _really_ gotta get my hands on that booze,” Graznikh purred.  
”You would get me drunk for your own base purposes!” Záhovar protested.  
”Oh, I sure will! I'll be as base as ya like, âmbal, just as ya like...”  
”Watch it buddy,” Praktash snickered as Graznikh began to slaver. ”Not in the streets! Don't want us all thrown in the dungeons for... Whatever they called it.”  
”Indecency?” Záhovar tried while attempting to steer her enthusiastic snaga's hands away from her body.  
”Yeah, that.”  
”You know you like it,” Graznikh purred in an imitation of the phrase his buddy used so much. Praktash and Záhovar both began to laugh.  
”We sure do! C'mere, both of ya!”  
Záhovar gasped as she suddenly got crushed between them. ”Darkness, I cannot breathe like this!”  
”Not so weak now, am I?” Praktash asked with a sly leer.  
Záhovar frowned. ”What do you mean?”  
”Isn't that why you had me thrown to the pack? 'Cause you thought it'd do me good?”  
Záhovar glanced at Graznikh, who gave her a meek grin. ”Would it not?”  
”Maybe this isn't the best topic when you're drunk'n tired,” Graznikh tried.  
”Maybe she shouldn'ta thrown me to the Uruks an' gone drinkin' like nothin' happened,” Praktash retorted.

Záhovar rubbed her temples and seemed to sober up a little. ”Praktash... What do you want?”  
”Huh?”  
”Would you prefer to hide behind me for the rest of your life? I will shield you, if that is indeed what you want.”  
”I'm not hidin'! I just... want a little backup, 's all.”  
”You know that the other Uruks would follow my command, if I told them to leave you be. But it would also build a wall between you. You know that, do you not?”  
”Well yeah, but-”  
”Own your space.”  
”I don't even know what that means! Skai, stop speakin' in riddles!”  
”Very well,” Záhovar sighed. ”You lived on the streets of Lugburz for years. You are far more capable than you give yourself credit for. If you want the other Uruks to leave you be, then you must begin to show them the error of their ways. I know that they intimidate you-”  
”I'm not scared o' them!” Praktash snarled.  
”Then prove it!” Záhovar snapped. ”Prove that you do not need a High Officer's word to strike fear into their hearts! Give them a reason to leave you alone and they will.” Then she gave him an unsteady smirk. ”Or would you rather act like 'Sully'?”  
”Oh, don'tcha fuckin' _dare_ go there!” Praktash snarled. ”I'm not a snaga!”  
”Then what are you?”  
”I'm... I'm an Uruk. But I'm _more_ too! I don't need the pack! I don't...” He looked away.  
”Then look me in the eye and tell me that you have no interest in what they have to offer you.”  
Praktash tried. Oh, how he tried to speak those words! But they just would not come out of his mouth; his tongue refused to obey him. Eventually he turned away, lips trembling.  
”Fine,” he spat. ”You're right; I'm scared! I'm bloody _torn!_ I want the pack, but I'm shit-scared to the pits that if I take that, I'll lose myself... I'll lose _you!_ An' I don't know how the fuck I'm supposed to juggle those two if I don't choose!”  
”I'm not giving ya up,” Graznikh said. ”I'll stick with ya no matter what, you know that.”  
”Nar, you won't,” Praktash replied bitterly. ”You're with _her;_ you won't give her up for me.” He turned to Záhovar. ”So I failed your stupid test. But can you look _me_ in the eye an' tell me you won't trade me in for Sully?”  
Záhovar came closer and steadily met his gaze. ”You have my word that I will never trade you... for _anyone,_ Orc, Uruk or any other race. I want you here for _you;_ you are irreplaceable and I believe in you.” She looked at Graznikh. ”I believe in you _both._ ”  
Graznikh caught her in his arms; Praktash did the same from behind and they stood like that for a while.  
”We're in this together,” Graznikh whispered.  
”Next time you wanna toss me off someplace, let me know first, alright?” Praktash murmured. ”I hate not knowin' what's goin' on.”  
”As you wish. I will-”  
”Down!!”

Praktash had barely shouted before he shoved both Záhovar and Graznikh to the ground. The blink of an eye later, an arrow shattered against the wall behind them. They scrambled for cover behind the nearest corner.  
”Stupid idea,” Graznikh muttered. ”Stupid, fucking, idiot-”  
”How is this _my_ fault?” Záhovar hissed.  
”I'm not blaming _you_ ,” Graznikh growled at her. ”I'm blaming myself. Shoulda bloody seen this coming, or kept a closer watch! Skai...” He gave Praktash a nod of thanks that the Uruk returned.  
”Let's sneak out the other way,” Praktash suggested.  
”Nar, they've probably got that road covered.”  
”Then what?” Záhovar asked. ”Remain here like sitting birds until the assassin decides to finish the job?”  
”Can't you throw an illusion or somethin'?” Praktash asked.  
”Sorcery does not work like that. I must see the one I am ensorcelling.”  
”The one you _what?_ ”  
”Ensorc-”  
”Shut up, both o' ya! I'm trying to listen.” Graznikh swallowed hard as Záhovar gave him a cold glance, but she did fall silent. He shot the snickering Praktash a venomous look and listened for approaching footsteps high or low, but all was silent. ”I hate wood-elves...”  
”What brought that up?” Praktash whispered.  
”Right... Forgot to tell ya. This place has an infestation of 'em. I could be wrong, but I'd wager I've found the would-be killer. Or... killer _s._ ”  
Praktash frowned. ”But... the guy I fucked said-”  
”Whom did you fuck?” Záhovar interrupted.  
”Oh, just some priest with nice-smellin' hair and a fancy for Uruk cock,” he replied with a sheepish little grin. ”Only he tried to kill me, so I shook-”  
”I _knew_ it!” Graznikh snarled.  
”Nar; listen! It wasn't like that!”  
”He tried to kill ya, but not like _that_?”  
”Perhaps we should focus on getting killed in the now?” Záhovar tartly suggested. ”We can sort the killings out after we are done here!”  
”Right,” Praktash murmured.  
”As ya say, âmbal,” Graznikh muttered.  
”This will be a long night...”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Karkatulûk - fuck them/it all
> 
> On Dorwinion: I'm going with the theory that Dorwinion was an Elven realm similar to Mirkwood or Lórien, originally a Silvan settlement that was colonialised by Sindar refugees after the fall of Beleriand. It is similar in many ways to Thranduil's realm; highly isolationist and small enough not to be perceived as a real threat to its neighbours. Their entire culture circles around the unique grapes that they grow, ferment and guard with the perseverence of fanatics. The rest of the world holds little interest other than as possible trade partners.
> 
> Oh, and sorry for the ruined expectations of hot Uruk/Man smut :P


	18. There Used To Be Sense

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little warning: this chapter is where the "implied bestiality" tag kicks in. It's nothing graphic but if that kind of thing really freaks you out, start scrolling when the dogs are mentioned. The scene covers the following two paragraphs and ends at "Graznikh hugged him back".

”Mickey?”  
Mikbork absently scratched his ear and burrowed deeper into the pile of blankets, but something kept tearing them away. He woke up with a squeal as Zosh pinched him.  
”What, what?!”  
”You up?”  
”Mrf,” he groaned and rubbed his eyes. ”What izzit?”  
”How's the snufflin'?”  
”Better, I s'ppose...”  
”Good! Let's go!”  
Mikbork looked up at her expectant face with a frown. ”Go where?”  
”Out! Y'know, out there.” She pointed at the window. Stars could be seen in the darkening sky, lightly veiled behind high wisps of clouds.  
”But... We're not s'pposed to go there alone.”  
”We won't go alone, idiot! We're together, right? Us two. That's not 'alone'.”  
Mikbork hesitated. Upsetting Graznikh was not anywhere near the top of the list of things he wanted to do, but Zosh's excitement and curiosity would have been contagious even without the bond. It took him mere moments to make up his mind and fetch his weapons and what little he had in the way of armour.

Climbing the cliffside proved an easy task for the nimble little mountain Orcs. The streets below were not entirely empty; many pavilions and taverns were open all through the night and the main streets were both lit and patrolled by armed guards. But many side streets were not, and keen senses and night-adapted eyes gave Mikbork and Zosh the advantage. Soon they crouched on the battlements of the inner wall.  
”So what'll we do first?” Mikbork asked. ”Got a plan?”  
”Uh-huh,” Zosh nodded. ”We hunt!”  
”Hunt what?”  
”That sniper, o' course! The one what shot Sully.”  
”Uhh... Why?”  
Zosh rolled her huge eyes. ”Because he tried to shoot Záza, dummy! Listen; those silly roundears won't catch him. Her. Za. Whatever. They's still out there, and might try again. So, _we_ stop 'em. We can sniff, track, find where they're hiding. _Then_ we tell Graz, so he can go and bash their heads in. Then he'd owe us some!”  
Now Mikbork was grinning. ”You're not completely daft,” he said, ”not when you try hard.”  
”'Course I'm not. 'N I always try hard!”Zosh replied without taking her eyes off the city below. Then she frowned. ”Wait, what?”  
But Mikbork had already left the top of the wall.  
”Where to?” she whispered as she caught up with him.  
”Th' gate. That's where it started. We gotta catch the trail.”  
The gate itself was guarded, but the guards were focusing on the lower city and did not notice the two little shadows stealing past them. Mikbork figured that the best way to start was to track the guards that had gone to investigate the attack when it happened. He managed to catch the scent of the guards as he passed the gate, but none of them matched that of those who had escorted their group into the attack.  
Zosh had a good nose, but was not as experienced at using it. After they had sniffed around for a while in the alley where the first guards had gone, she snorted quietly.  
”They's mucked up the trail! Too many going all over.”  
Mikbork nodded. Then he had an idea and sniffed the doors to the buildings; many of the kitchen entrances to the mansions and dormitories where the priests lived led there, and perhaps the assassin had entered or left through one of them. Now he was glad that he had had the wherewithal to bring the broken arrow shaft that Praktash had discarded; after sniffing it to refresh his memory he found a match on one of the doors. It was faint, but there.  
”He doesn't live here,” Zosh whispered. ”That'd take a special kind o' moron; ya don't shoot an enemy from the front porch! Unless ya _wanna_ be the only white goat on the mountainside.”  
Mikbork shrugged; as daft as she could be at times, Zosh had a point. ”Then what? Can't track 'im in the street; the scent's too muddy.”  
Zosh had no answer to that. ”This is stoopid. Lezz go find Grash'n Tash instead!”  
”It's 'Graz', not 'Grash',” Mikbork pointed out as they climbed the wall once more.  
”But 'Graz' doesn't work with the rhyme! It's gotta match.”  
”Why?”  
”'Cause... 'cause... it's made of tea!”  
Mikbork paused. ”What?”  
Zosh only giggled at his confused face and bounded away into the dark.  
”Zooosh!” Mikbork whined as he ran after. ”Quit bein' a snaga!”  
The lower city was difficult to navigate, but the heavy scent of what could only be flowers led them almost straight to the market. A few times they ran past or into lone drunks in the back streets; one of them started screaming so loud that Mikbork reflexively slit his throat before he had even thought it over. Zosh only snickered hysterically and Mikbork desperately tried to make her shut up as they fled the scene.

The Flower Bazaar was nearly empty and the heavy fumes made Mibkork's eyes and nose run once they got closer, so the goblins decided to steer clear of the place. After spending some time exploring the alleys and rooftops, they soon found themselves looking out over an even larger market near the great outer wall. They did not know it, but this was the Green Market where the outlying farms sold their crops and foreign merchants traded canned, dried or cured foods. A large part of the market was designed for craftsmen and -women; here they sold wool, leather, tools and peddled their skills as woodworkers, clothiers or other crafts.  
Mikbork and Zosh had little interest for that part; their sole focus was on the food. This late the market was nearly empty, but some of the travelling merchants had guards both two- and fourlegged. The little Orcs carefully stole past the tents and wagons. Near one wagon, they saw the strangest sight; some kind of animal, almost the same size as them, with too intelligent eyes that squatted on the ground almost like an Orc. It had a long tail and a thick mane of light brown fur, almost like a beard, but its long snout and face was hairless. Mikbork was on his way to pinch its tail when it suddenly yawned and displayed fangs that were longer even than Margzat's. He quickly retreated.  
Zosh soon sniffed out a stall that sold mushrooms. The display table itself was empty, but the tent behind it smelled deliciously. The only problem was that it was guarded.  
”But I _want_ 'em!” she complained when Mikbork suggested that they leave well enough alone. ”I haven't had proper food in ages!”  
”But what 'bout the tarks? How do we get rid of 'em?”  
They sat deep in thought for a moment, then Zosh shone up. ”Fire!”  
Mikbork stared at her.  
”Yeah; fire! We start a small one, over there. Then they'll go look at it and we can sneak in!”  
”You're gonna burn down the whole town for shrooms?!”  
”It's made o' stone! Well; most of it is. But it'll only be a small one, they'll put it out. C'mooon Mickey,” she pleaded. ”Think o' the shrooms!”  
”We're gonna get kiiiilled,” Mikbork whined as he watched her bounce away.  
  
  
”We can't stay here,” Praktash pleaded. ”At this rate, they'll just find a better place an' pick us off!”  
”So then what? Split up?”  
”That will make little difference,” Záhovar said. ”If they want me, they will wait for me.”  
Graznikh groaned. Then he looked up. ”We could try climbing.”  
”You could,” Praktash replied. ”I'm not exactly the climbin' type.” Then he grinned. ”I could go out there, strip my armour off... real... slow... Then they'd be so distracted by my dazzlin' appearance that you could sneak out without them even noticin'.”  
”And how do you know that we will not be so... dazzled... that we forget all about the sneaking?” Záhovar asked with a smile.  
”Oh, _you!_ ” Praktash chuckled. ”You're not gettin' enough!” He turned to Graznikh. ”Why isn't she gettin' enough? Go give her enough!”  
”That'd be a right nice way to die,” Graznikh murmured with an embarrassed little grin. He shot his giggling mistress a fond glance. ”I _really_ need a bottle o' that booze...” Then he frowned. ”D'you smell smoke?”

”Oops,” Zosh commented as she returned to where Mikbork was hiding. Her hair was slightly singed on one side, giving her an odd, lopsided look.  
”You daft bitch!!” Mikbork hissed. ”You gonna get us killed!”  
”Wasn't my fault that tent was stuffed full o' lampoil! Who keeps lampoil inna tent anyways? Stoopid idea.” Then she grinned. ”Look! No guards. Lezz' go get those shrooms.”  
Mikbork rolled his eyes so hard that he thought they would get stuck inside his head for a moment before following her.  
The moment the tent blew up, the chaos was a fact. Mikbork had no idea where all the Men had come from. But none of them cared about two little Orcs; they were too busy staring at the fire, running back and forth with buckets or tearing the nearest stalls down and away to keep it from spreading. All the while the oil merchant stood nearby, wringing his hands and wailing about his lost profit and the three slaves that had slept in the tent.  
Once inside the tent, Zosh opened one of the half-full crates and grabbed a cloth bag that hung on a nail. They quickly filled the bag, crawled out underneath the tent cloth and legged it into the shadows. After climbing a low balcony and eventually making it up onto a rooftop, they could finally catch their breath.  
”My oil! My oil!” Zosh imitated and snickered hysterically. Mikbork almost spat out the mushroom he was chewing on and some got lodged in his throat. Zosh merrily slapped his back until he coughed it back up.  
”Shoulda thought o' that afore he made a living on it,” he said once he could speak again. Then he paused and sniffed the air. ”What..?”  
Zosh looked up from the bag as he began to sniff around. ”Wha' izzit?”  
Mikbork sniffed the low wall that made up the edge of the flat roof. ”It was here.”  
”What was?”  
”The one what shot the arrow! Come sniff.” Zosh left the bag and did as told. ”See? It's all fresh.”  
They shared a look, then an identical leer. He followed the trail while Zosh grabbed the mushroom bag. High and low it went, following streets and alleys, walls and roofs. In one alley near the Flower Bazaar they caught the scent of Praktash and Graznikh, but decided to follow the first scent.  
Zosh was about to climb onto the rooftop, but Mikbork stopped her. As they peered over the edge, they saw the assassin inching along the roof's edge not to alert the prey to her presence. She had her back turned towards them and drew an arrow.  
”Look,” Zosh whispered as she looked around the corner and down into the alley below. ”Thazz' Záza!”  
Mikbork let no time go to waste; after taking aim, he threw the mushroom he had been eating at the assassin. It hit her in the back of the head and the two goblins had to struggle not to laugh as she started and almost dropped the bow. She slowly picked up the halfeaten mushroom with a look of utter confusion on her face.  
”Watch this,” Zosh whispered. Before Mikbork could stop her, she had sneaked up on the woman, who was currently looking up at the sky. She squatted beside her, quiet as a shadow. The assassin did a double take as she spotted her.  
”Hi!” Zosh squeaked, widening her eyes until they looked like two huge, glowing balls in her face. The woman let out a terrified yelp and jumped backwards, but miscalculated the leap and fell off the roof. There was a dull 'smack' as she hit the cobbled street far below.  
”Rude,” Zosh sulked. ”She didn't even say goodbye!”  
  
Graznikh almost died of a heart failure when a Man with a bow crashed into the ground right next to him. For several long moments he could not speak or move, only hyperventilate as he stared up at the roof where the snufflers crouched. Praktash hurried up to him as soon as he had recovered from his own shock.  
”Buddy? You okay?”  
Graznikh took a deep, tortured breath as the Uruk put a hand on his chest and roared from the top of his lungs; ”YOU CRAZY LITTLE SNAGA BASTARDS!!!” Then he began to laugh like an idiot.  
”Told ya he's a softie,” Zosh told Mikbork. She noticed that Záhovar was looking up at them and gave her a sheepish smile and a wave. The High Officer smirked and walked over to the dead woman.  
”A pity that we did not capture her alive,” she said as if to herself. ”Then we could have questioned her and perhaps found out if there is more to this than a lone madwoman.”  
”Might still be,” Praktash said and left his giggling buddy to search the mess. He rummaged through the bloodsoaked clothes but found no notes or anything else that could identify the killer. ”Skai...”  
”Err... She had this.” Praktash looked up as Mikbork held a little black silk bag out towards him.  
”Thanks, Mickey!” he chirped and handed it to Záhovar while ignoring the snuffler's humiliated glare.  
Mikbork shot his giggling mate a venomous look. ”'S all your fault!”  
”Sorry, Mickey!” Zosh managed to squeak before she collapsed again. He promptly jumped her with a roar and Praktash let out an almost trilling sound at the sight of the wrestling snufflers. Graznikh had finally recovered enough to get back on his feet, and now he snatched the bag that Zosh had dropped.  
”Mushrooms? Where'd you get mushrooms?” Both goblins froze in mid-fight. ”Get up, both o' ya!”  
Mikbork and Zosh scrambled to their feet.  
”Out with it,” Graznikh growled. ”What is this?”  
”Shrooms,” Mikbork muttered.  
”We picked 'em,” Zosh filled in.  
”Picked 'em _where?_ ”  
”Does it matter?” All three Orcs turned to look at Záhovar. She had been whispering together with Praktash over something they had found in the little black bag.  
”Why wouldn't it matter?” Graznikh asked.  
”Whatever mischief they caused, I would say that they have already paid for it.” She motioned with her hand towards the dead assassin.  
The snufflers nodded enthusiastically.  
”'At was th' plan,” Mikbork said. ”I sniffed 'er down, I did! _We_ did,” he added and rubbed the side where Zosh had punched him.  
”The shrooms kinda fell in on the way,” Zosh finished.  
Graznikh shrugged. ”It's your call.”  
Záhovar gave the dead woman one last glance. ”Let us return to the palace. I sjall tell the khagan that the matter has been resolved.”  
”But-” Praktash began, but fell silent when Záhovar raised a hand.  
”Later,” she mouthed. Then she frowned as the spotted the black, billowing pillar of smoke on the horizon. ”What _is_ that thing?”  
  
  
”So let me make sure I got this straight,” Praktash said once they were safely back inside the palace and headed for the guest wing. ”You torch half the market _just_ so you could get a hold of a bag o' mushrooms? You idiot snaga!”  
”Didn't plan for it to get that big!” Zosh protested. ”'S not my fault they store oil in stoopid places!”  
”An' you didn't think to look _before_ you set the place on fire?”  
”Weeelll...”  
Graznikh shook his head. ”You're bloody lucky no one spotted ya. I've faced tark mobs before; it's not pretty.”  
Praktash glanced at Záhovar. ”You're awfully quiet. Whaddya think of this?”  
”Hmm?” She looked up. ”Chances are that there were witnesses that have not yet stepped forward. But until then, keep quiet. The fewer who knows, the better.” She waited for Graznikh to open the door to the guest wing. ”If someone asks, I will deny all connections. As will you. The snufflers have stayed in the guest wing all the time, and there is no way they could have caused any trouble.”  
”Right,” Graznikh said. ”So what of the bag? Give ya any leads?”  
”Perhaps,” she replied with a slight frown. ”There was a note, but it must be some kind of code. Something about a... worm of steel? That cannot be the correct term. And I do not recognise the letters at the bottom, if letters they be.”  
”So it's Rhûnish?”  
”Yes, but much is no doubt lost in translation.” She read the note again. ”Something, something... 'worm of steel will bring', and then those signs.”  
”Hey, Lug-durbatar!” Kraash hollered the moment she reached the bedroom. ”This one speaks Rhûnish like he was born here!”  
Sulmurz coughed as he slapped him hard in the back. ”Fuckin'... snitch!”  
”So you have decided to come out of your shell,” Záhovar commented as she stopped in the doorway. Kraash gave her a leer that was almost insubordinate without fully crossing the line. Graznikh gave him a warning growl anyway.  
”Spoke it well enough back when 'at crazy fellow passed here,” Margzat commented.  
Sulmurz quickly looked away as Záhovar gave him an inquisitive glance.  
”What 'crazy fellow'?” she asked.  
”Some Rhûnlander,” the krîtar replied. ”Didn't speak a word o' Common, so yer would-be snaga here translated for us.”  
”Is that true?” Záhovar asked Sulmurz. ”You speak Rhûnish?”  
He gave her a meek look before he answered. ”A-aye, I guess. Haven't used it in a while though, so I'm a bit rusty.”  
”Thought ya said you grew up in-” Graznikh began before Sulmurz interrupted him.  
”Grew up, yeah. Didn't spend my whole life there,” he replied defensively. Graznikh shared a glance with Záhovar and shrugged.  
”Follow me,” Záhovar told Sulmurz. ”Lug-snaga, you are free for tonight.”  
”Fuck yeah, food!” Praktash exclaimed and bounced towards the fire.  
Margzat blocked his path with a dangerous leer. ”Beg me for it.”  
Graznikh chuckled as he watched Praktash sink to his knees with a swoon. He bypassed the Uruks and helped himself from the large kettle; Margzat was too busy to notice.  
  
Záhovar took Sulmurz upstairs. ”So you speak Rhûnish. What else have you neglected to tell me?”  
”I can't remember everythin' I've learned o'er the years!” Sulmurz protested meekly. ”Aye, I know some Rhûnish. An' Adûnaic, but I guess ya already figured that one out from what I told ya earlier.”  
”Can you read? Write? Read maps?”  
”Aye, but... not Maushur. Tarks don't use that. Or... didn't, at least.” He shrank a little as she turned towards him. ”I-in th' colony they still used that first... style...  
”You can read Elfscript?!”  
”Well... I... Aye. But only the Numenorean mode, an' I never was very good at it, not even back in the colony!”  
”But you will give it a try.” It was no question, and Sulmurz swallowed a little.  
”I... will?”  
”Yes. I daresay you will.”  
Sulmurz worried his lip. Then he remembered Kraash's words from before. _If she was a golug, she would know it. She wouldn't need me. I_ knew _he was crazy wrong!_  
Sulmurz considered telling her about it, but something held him back. Mostly he didn't want to have to listen to Kraash getting buggered again, but there was more to it. Kraash was an Orc, same as him, and despite it all they should stick together against the Uruks. That was the way in Lugburz; Orcs on one side, Uruks on the other, sometimes working together but always at odds in the end. Záhovar's act told him that she did not plan to change that part, nor did it cross his mind that she might not even be aware that there was something worth fixing. And since she had obviously chosen him before a particular, red-haired Uruk... Sulmurz rolled his shoulders with a smug leer as he walked out.  
  
”Good horse,” Lîrnash said and slurped down a gooey piece of overcooked meat.  
”I've had better,” Ghrazagh replied.  
”Might've been more use alive than dead,” Golnauk muttered. ”Meat's too tough.”  
”I doubt it woulda lasted long,” Graznikh said. ”Its face was near torn off. The wound woulda rotted.”  
”Besides, it wasn't very good alive either,” Sulmurz pointed out as he sat down. Too weak-legged.”  
”Sure it was good,” Urkhish chimed in. ”Why wouldn't it be?”  
”The leg joints were too long, hocks were too lean, not enough space in the-”  
”It had a big neck,” Urkhish protested.  
”That doesn't matter,” Sulmurz said. ”The neck doesn't matter, so long as it's not too long'n gangly. Nar, ya wanna know a good horse, ya look at its rump.”  
Several of the Uruks snickered.  
”I didn't mean it like that!” he snarled. ”The rear's where all the power sits; ya ever seen a horse kick? The rear's way stronger than the front. Ya look at the rump and the spot where the front leg attaches to the rest. A big round rump means power, a front leg that can move freely means it can run for a good long while. Ya don't want too big a horse either, unless you're gonna eat it or have it pull a wagon. Nar, a small'n fast ride's what'cha want!”  
”A small an' fast ride is all well an' good,” Praktash drawled as he wiped some fat up with a finger and licked it off. ”But sometimes you want a little more... _force._ A bit more 'oomph', if you catch my drift.”  
Sulmurz groaned. ”You've a bloody talent for twistin' everything!”  
”Thanks Sully!” Praktash chirped. ”But I'm not really twistin', am I? We're all talkin' about the same thing; what makes a good ride. Right?” He chuckled at Sulmurz's disturbed scowl. ”It's the same principle! Take a look at this for example.” He straddled Draumaturz's waist; the Uruk had been laying flat on his belly on the carpet, half asleep. Now Praktash took a firm hold of his buttocks, merrily ignoring his surprised snarl.  
”This here's a _fine_ one, don'tcha think?” he told Záhovar. ”Sully's right; you want a proper good ride, you look at the rear-end first.”  
A hard slap on said rear-end made Draumaturz squeak. ”What the _fuck?!_ ” He growled and tried to turn around, but Praktash shoved him back down with his own rear by sitting down hard.  
”See?” he grinned as he kneaded. ”Plump an' firm; you just _know_ this steed could race ya all the way to the finish line an' still buck ya over first.”  
”Lemme up or I'll buck ya someplace else,” Draumaturz growled.  
”Is that a promise?”  
Draumaturz managed to get out from under him with some effort. Then he pounced him with a growl and began to tickle him while snickering at Praktash's squeals. Tickling soon turned to playfighting as Praktash managed to buck him off in turn. Margzat began to chuckle at the sight as Praktash grabbed a pillow with a furious snarl and began pummelling Draumaturz with it.  
”I'm thinkin' ya have a new weapon o' choice,” he said.  
”I sure do,” Praktash replied. ”But I prefer it when people bite it!” Margzat stoically let him throw the pillow in his face. When he removed it, he wore the most insane, terrifying leer that Praktash had ever seen.  
”Bite, izzit?” Margzat rumbled dangerously. ”I'm thinkin' we'll see about that, Bukrazikh, won't we?”  
”Nar,” Praktash whimpered as he began to back away from the advancing menace. ”Nar! 'Zat, I'm not gonna-”  
”Hold him down!”  
Urkhish and Draumaturz were fast on the task; Praktash howled and squealed as they held him down while Margzat mercilessly tickled his exposed sides until he was sobbing for mercy.  
Sulmurz gave the Uruks a thoughtful look. ”Hnh... There's this word...”  
Graznikh barely looked up from his bowl. ”What word?”  
”I can't remember. At-something.”  
”Attack? Attach? Attempt?”  
”Nar, none o' those...” Then he snapped his fingers. ”That's it!”  
”What's it?” Graznikh asked with his mouth full.  
”Attention-whore! That's the word I was lookin' for. That Uruk's a bloody attention-whore.”  
”Well I'll never look at horses the same way again, 'at's for sure,” Golnauk muttered. Záhovar mumbled something about being tired and went to bed.  
  
  
While in the city, Graznikh had spotted numerous dogs. Most of them did not seem to be following anyone in particular and roamed the streets in loose packs, stealing from the stalls and digging through trash piles, eating whatever they found. Somehow, a few of them had found their way into the palace after the Orcs moved in, and now they were huddling in the shadows beyond the entrance to the bedroom and waited for an opportunity to steal a piece of meat. Ghrazagh and Lîrnash kept them at bay, but the others couldn't keep from throwing them a scrap or two and laugh as they viciously fought over them.  
One of them, a brown shaggy mongrel with a large, black speckle that looked like a splatter of Orc blood on one shoulder was braver than the others. It kept a healthy distance to Akûl, who had finally been let into the palace and who was eyeing the dogs with a haughty expression, but easily dodged the Uruk boots and kept coming closer and closer to the fire while throwing pleading looks at the Orcs. Eventually it was sitting between Graznikh and Praktash, one paw lifted, eagerly awaiting the next scrap.  
Praktash had not even noticed his new neighbour; he was too busy gulping down his third bowl of stew. ”Skai, all that shoppin' made me hungry!”  
”Yeah, sure,” Graznikh chuckled. ”'Shopping'. Looked a lot more like a whorehouse visit to me.”  
”He what?!” Kraash exclaimed. ”Next time, I'm going too!”  
”They wouldn't let ya in, little opa-snaga,” Praktash chuckled. ”It's only for... whatever they called me.”  
”'Handsome'.”  
”Right, that. Though I prefer 'Tongue Terror'.” The dog looked hopeful as Praktash put the bowl down in his lap and reached over to grab a piece of bread. It gingerly placed a paw on his upper thigh and looked at him with pleading eyes. Praktash gave it one look, then went from sitting down to leaping almost five feet into the air with a yowl that sounded more like it had come from a frightened cat than a Black Uruk. The dog bolted as the camp erupted with coarse laughter.  
”He sounded like a fuckin' chicken!” Ghrazagh howled.  
”Oh, shut up!” Praktash shouted. Graznikh chuckled a little, but stopped when he noticed his buddy's thoroughly shaken look.  
”Felt ya up a bit, did it?” Mûrnaluzh snickered. ”An' here I thought ya took cock wherever you could get it. I'm bloody disappointed! Was hoping for a show.”  
Praktash growled at him as he stood. Mûrnaluzh did the same, but Praktash only turned and walked away. Now Mûrnaluzh _did_ look disappointed.  
”Shut up,” Graznikh told Sulmurz, who was still laughing. Then he stood and followed his buddy.  
  
Praktash sat in the garden and stared up at the stars.  
”Hey, buddy. Ya okay?” Graznikh whispered as he squatted beside him.  
”Hnh.”  
”What happened back there?” Graznikh frowned as the Uruk shook his head and looked away. ”You can talk to me, buddy. I won't judge. Ya know that, right?”  
Praktash shrugged. ”Not here.” They left the palace grounds and walked out into the empty, dark temple district. On the grounds belonging to the Temple of the God-King a small park had recently been planted. There Praktash stopped and squatted with his back against a birch tree.  
”I'm sorry for causin' such a scene,” he began, his voice little more than a whisper. ”It's just... That critter, the way it put its paw on me like that, it... brought back some bad, old memories that I'd forgotten 'til now.”  
Graznikh frowned as he sat down. ”What, the witch had ya mauled by dogs?”  
”Nar,” Praktash growled, his face a twisted mask of disgust, shame and fear. ”Not mauled.”  
Graznikh scowled and shook his head when he understood what his buddy was hinting at. ”Skai... That's...”  
”I dunno what put it in her mind the first time,” Praktash interrupted, teeth clenched and spitting out every syllable. ”Maybe I'd been a little too cocky, shown a bit too much independent thought, been a little too content with my lot; she was happiest when she had me jumpin' at my own shadow at every turn. So she had me do some base tasks, simple things to give her an excuse, as if she needed one. Once I was done an' didn't muck it up she praised me, patted my head an' shut it down with compulsion. I couldn't do shit, just watch as I let myself get strapped down to some steel contraption. An' when I was stuck on my hands an' knees, arse in the air, she dropped the compulsion an' called me a good little bitch. An' said that good little bitches deserved to get bred.” Tears of fury and humiliation welled up in his eyes.  
”It wasn't just the one either; there were three. 'Specially trained for it', she said. I couldn't do shit to stop what happened. She kept cooin' at me throughout; told me what a good girl I was, what pretty puppies I'd make. An'... she kept tweakin' the compulsion, made me feel more, made me _like_ it... By the end I couldn't help it, I kept beggin' for more...” Praktash collapsed with his head in Graznikh's lap, desperately trying to muffle his crying against a leatherclad thigh.  
”I won't kill her,” Graznikh growled as he clutched his buddy's shaking shoulders. ”That sick nashrashnik doesn't deserve death for what she's done. I'm gonna find a way to keep her alive, make her life an eternal torture session. She'll be begging for death and I'll be laughing in her face and say 'nar'!” He looked down at Praktash. ”None o' what happened was your fault, d'ya hear me?”  
”That wasn't all,” Praktash hissed, his voice temporarily back under control. ”Afterwards, she had me locked up. She'd do that at times, leave me in the dark for I dunno how long until I was screamin' for someone, anyone, to come break the isolation. But this time I wasn't alone. She left one o' the dogs. At first I ignored it, growled whenever it came close, kept all the food, stuff like that... But the longer we were left in there, the harder it got. It wasn't the dog's fault, what happened. It was as much a snaga as I was. My head was already in shambles an' the pack sense got too strong, so the dog became my pack. I took whatever I got. She had us both dragged out to repeat what was done a few times, then threw us back in the cell. I told myself that what happened out there was her fault, not ours.” He smiled a little through the tears, a mirthless, dead smile. ”I had nothin' else, so I started talkin' to it. Shared food an' water, playfought, stuff like that. It felt good, havin' a packmate, I could forget what happened outside for a while. Until the moment it jumped me in the cell. I was so shocked I couldn't even think, I just stood there an' let it happen. But someone musta been waitin' for it, 'cause the moment it was over one o' the doorguards came in an' killed it. Put a knife to its guts an' left it to bleed out right in front of me.”  
He sobbed. ”I was still cryin' hard when they hauled me out an' strapped me down again. After, they left the second dog with me an' the whole thing repeated itself. When it was only the third one left I knew what was gonna happen, so I fought back harder than ever, but it didn't work. I was so bloody _lonely!_ An' it kept crawlin' up to me, whimperin' an' beggin' for attention an' food... It was just as lonely as I was, how the fuck was I supposed to _not_ take it in? But it got killed, sure as the others, an'...”  
He closed his eyes and rubbed his teary face against Graznikh's thigh. Graznikh opened his mouth to speak but yelped as Praktash suddenly pulled him close and hugged him so hard that he had to struggle to breathe.  
”Don't leave me!” the Uruk whispered. ”Promise me you'll never abandon me like that! Don't die, please Graz, don't go! _Please!_ ”  
”I can't promise not to die,” Graznikh croaked. ”Not when you squeeze me like this!” Reluctantly, Praktash let go a little.  
”But I can promise I won't ditch ya,” Graznikh said after catching his breath. ”And I won't let anyone do anything like this to ya ever again, I'll kill 'em or die trying!”  
”Don't die,” Praktash whispered again.  
  
Graznikh hugged him back. ”If I do, stick with Záhovar and Margzat. You know they're decent, they won't hurt ya.”  
”But they're not _you!_ No one else is! If you go, I... I dunno, I might die too! You're the only one who would listen to shit like this, watch me cry an' not laugh or use it against me. You're the only one I _trust!_ ”  
Graznikh brushed his claws against Praktash's cheek. ”Then I'll wait for ya in the Void. But I don't plan on dying anytime soon. Not before I've seen at least two more Top Ones bite the dust. I still have things to do and see, and a life to live with you and... with Záhovar too.”  
”I'm countin' on it,” Praktash said and caught one of his fingers between his fangs briefly before changing the subject. ”Did you find it, by the way?”  
”Nar,” Graznikh replied with a disappointed scowl. ”I guess it was a long shot.”  
”Not really,” Praktash said. He sat up and dug around in his belt pocket until he found the little etched metal jar.  
”That's pretty,” Graznikh commented.  
”It's not all. Here, take a whiff o' this.” He opened it and held it at a distance, wafting the scent towards Graznikh with his hand. Graznikh felt his heart break and melt at the same time as he inhaled the painfully familiar scent.  
”Where did ya..?”  
”Nicked it from that guy I fucked. It's only fair; he didn't pay me.”  
Graznikh snickered at that. Praktash tossed the jar into his lap and he placed it in his belt pocket. ”I owe ya one, buddy.”  
”I'll save it for later. Y'know, it doesn't smell too bad. Real nice, actually! But... Why do Elves use pomade? They need that kinda shit?”  
Graznikh frowned. ”Not sure... Whin always called it a hair salve. She said the Elves make it and put it in their hair after washing to make it softer and nicer-smelling.” He looked down at the jar. ”Whin used to use this stuff all the time. T'was the first scent I caught off her when I met her that first time. I dunno if Zahovar'll like it, but...”  
”I'm sure she will,” Praktash said.  
”I'm sorry. For not punching the bastards for laughing at ya back there. If I'd known...”  
”Don't worry 'bout it, buddy. It's... Like I said when we set out from Lugburz; don't try to protect me. I know it may sound queer, but that helps too, the laughter, even though it's hard at first. Makes me see how bloody silly I'm actin' at times, makes me tougher. What?” he asked as he noticed the odd look in Graznikh's eyes.  
”I'm bloody proud of ya, buddy.”  
Praktash gave him a reluctant little smile. ”Why?”  
”'Cause you're the toughest bastard I've ever met. You've been through stuff most folks'd go barking-at-the-Moon bonkers from, but you just walk outta it and move on.”  
Praktash chuckled a little at that. ”I'm hardly just movin' on, not with all the eye-waterin' I do. 'Sides, you've been through some nasty shit too. Can't say I've had it worse, really.”  
”But I had you there to pick me up every time I lost it. I'd be dead in the gutter if ya hadn't been there for me.”  
”I didn't pick myself up either, I had Hîsht. Whatever she did later, without her I wouldn'ta made it through that first time in Lugburz.” He smirked a little. ”If not for her, I'd be as dead in the gutter as you.” Then he cocked his head. ”So when're you gonna give that to her?”  
Graznikh shrugged. ”Not sure... Gotta find the right time.”  
”Tomorrow.”  
Graznikh looked up. ”Tomorrow?!”  
”Yeah, the sooner the better,” Praktash grinned. ”You know she's a sweetie deep down; what's the worst that could happen?”  
  
  
When they returned inside, Graznikh went looking for Kraash and Ghakû. The two Orcs had been unusually absent lately; they came out for food, but otherwise spent most of their time in one of the smaller guest rooms. He did not like it; a split like this could be dangerous if things got rocky, and he wanted to make sure that Ghakû had everything under control. The old Orc seemed to be the only one capable of keeping Kraash in check. Graznikh had no quarrel with the veteran and did not want any either, so he decided to try to make amends. Following the scent of smoke, he soon found the room they had set up camp in. Surprisingly, he also found Mûrnaluzh. The three looked up from a game of dice as he walked in.  
”So the lofty leader decided to join the grunts at the bottom o' the bag,” Ghakû commented jovially as he spotted him. Graznikh chuckled as he squatted nearby; close enough to speak without having to raise his voice, but not so close that he intruded.  
”Nar, I'm still a grunt deep down,” he replied. ”At least I'm doing all the dirty work for the time being.”  
”Oho?” Kraash sneered. ”Doesn't look dirty to me. Polished, more like. I mean, ya gotta compete with the fancy-faced Uruk, right? Or maybe you're polishing yer arse for him?”  
”Now now lad,” Ghakû said. ”The lofty leader no doubt came to leave a message from the even loftier ones.” He gave Graznikh a sharp look. ”Whaddya want?”  
Graznikh licked his fangs before replying. He did not like the tone Kraash had used, but decided against calling him out on it for now. It was obvious that the little idiot was trying to pick a fight. ”Just to give a heads up in case ya plan on hitting the streets. They're riddled with Elves.”  
Kraash perked up a little and gave him an odd look. It almost looked accusing. _What's that about now?_ Graznikh thought.  
”Elves?” Ghakû leered. ”I'd wager there's a story here. Siddown cub, don't keep us dangling!”  
Graznikh did as told. He left out why Praktash had disappeared, but told the tale of his encounter with the 'Dorry-winnies' in great detail.  
”'Wine merchants' my arse,” Ghakû snorted when he was done. ”Spies, more like! I take it ya told the Top one all about it?”  
Graznikh nodded. In truth he hadn't, but he planned to. ”They sure were quick to come after me. Funny, seeing as I hadn't bothered them at all, but that's Elves for ya. Just keep an eye out, in case ye're going out. Don't wanna lose more heads to them.”  
”Nar, that'd be a pity,” Kraash commented slyly. ”Seeing as yours is already lost. Elf-rutter.”  
  
Sulmurz, who had just walked in through the door with a newly filled booze skin, froze on the threshold.  
”What the everlovin' _fuck_ did you just call me?!” Graznikh growled.  
”Come _onnn,_ ya daft prick!” Sulmurz exclaimed once he found his voice again. ”I told ya, she's not an Elf!! I got proof!”  
Kraash glanced at him. ”What proof?”  
”...She doesn't speak Elvish.”  
”Like she couldn't pretend not to know! I tell ya; smells like one, looks like one!”  
”And how do you know what an Elf looks like?” Graznikh asked.  
Kraash shot Sulmurz a leer. ”Kept quiet, did ya? Smart.” Then he turned to Graznikh. ”I know 'cause I was there when we busted the door to their stronghold.”  
”Kraash,” Graznikh said. ”You can't've been. You're a bloody cub compared to me!”  
”Sure, I was a little wet behind the ears... But there I was! T'was a battle worth dying for! And you missed it. Too bad. Golug... I know what they look like. Know what they _taste_ like. And that tough-talkin' plashnak out there is one of 'em! Looks the part, right down to the bits what matter.”  
Graznikh felt his blood boil in his ears, but he managed to keep the berserker in check and thought fast. ”She does? Good.”  
Kraash's face fell a little. He clearly had not expected that turn of events. ”It is?”  
”Aye,” Graznikh replied. ”Since you're so perceptive-”  
”The fuck did you call me?!”  
”Smart!!” Graznikh shouted in his face. ”I called ya smart! _Anyway,_ what I planned to say was that I'll let ya in on a little secret; the Eye made her. She's not an Elf, just made to look like one. I don't claim to know the mind o' that one, but I figure since Elves're so bloody picky about who they keep company with, they'd piss their pants seeing 'one o' their own' in the garb o' Lugburz. Or some such, I dunno. And I'm not the one to ask, either. If she's anything to them like what Uruks are to Orcs, I'd say He did a bloody fine job.”  
Kraash stood quiet and Graznikh could almost see how the cogs ground against each other behind his eyes. _I bet he's gonna try to save face. Oh, I_ like _this!_  
”Well you coulda told us,” Kraash said eventually. ”I bloody near... I mean, I'm not the one to go 'gainst the Eye! If that's what He... I mean... I guess it is,” he finished abruptly and turned away. Graznikh caught his shoulder and turned him back.  
”Don't worry about it,” he said. ”Some folks get away with everything.” Then he punched him square in the face. ”But you don't. That's for calling me 'Elf-rutter', ya nasty little prick.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Praktash :( he never gets to have nice things. At least Graznikh finally got an excuse to do something he's been wanting to do ever since he first met Kraash... And we all know Záhovar's gonna make Sulmurz pay for keeping secrets.


	19. A Road To Nowhere

The following evening, a loud howl from the garden made Uruks and Orcs alike start awake. It turned out to be coming from Mûrnaluzh, who was squatting over the newly dug jakes near the stairs, wincing and whining.  
”Fuuuck,” he groaned and lit up as he spotted Praktash. ”Fucking do something! Feels like my guts're gonna fall out here!”  
”I'm not touchin' that,” Praktash replied with a disgusted scowl. ”Might be contagious!”  
”Yuh... You're the fucking healer! Heal me!”  
”...You'll have to do better than that.”  
Mûrnaluzh moaned as his stomach rumbled dangerously. After a long moment of tortured silence, broken only by the sounds of splattering feces, pained squeaks and the muffled snickering of several Uruks, a quiet whimper was heard. ”...Please?”  
”Will ya listen to that,” Praktash murmured with a wicked leer. ”He knows the word of power!”  
  
After a leisurely stroll to fetch his healer's bag, he returned to his tortured nemesis. He took his sweet time examining Mûrnaluzh's bowl, his knife and his ghâshpau skin. Then he took a hefty swig from the flask of booze that Mûrnaluzh had kept hidden in his pack.   
”What?” Mûrnaluzh asked. ”What izzit?”  
”Mmn... I'd say it's poison.”  
”What?!”  
”You heard me; poison. Nothin' too bad; it won't kill ya or anythin'. Might upset your tummy for a few nights though.”  
”Y-you're sayin' I'm gonna be like this for... for long?!” Mûrnaluzh stared him with a desperate expression. ”But... you know the cure, right? You could fix this?”  
”Yeah,” Praktash replied as he picked his things up and stood to leave. ”I could.”  
”Hey!!” Mûrnaluzh shouted as Praktash began to walk away. ”You can't leave me like this!”  
”Watch me,” Praktash called back as he disappeared into the bedroom.  
”Krîtar,” Mûrnaluzh begged. ”You need me, I'm the best soldier you've got!”  
”I'm not the one pissin' off the drugdealer,” Margzat replied with a shrug. ”I'm thinkin' you've a great opportunity to fix 'at, right here.”  
Draumaturz could no longer keep silent; he slowly sank to the ground, laughing hysterically. Mûrnaluzh looked like he would attack him bare-handedly, but the moment he got up on all fours, he fell back down with a very un-Uruky moan that his stomach mirrored. Urkhish and Lîrnash immediately followed Draumaturz's example.  
”Praktash,” Mûrnaluzh called weakly through gritted teeth. ”Please!”  
Praktash stuck his head out with a beaming smile. ”I had no idea we were that friendly! Alright Mûrna, since you're askin' so nicely; how can I help ya?”  
”Gimme...” he began but had to pause to gasp. ”Gimme the cure... fuck, _please!_ ”  
”An' what do I get in return?”  
”Anything!!”  
”Wow... you're _sooo_ generous!” He uncorked the little bottle he had been holding and dumped the contents into Mûrnaluzh's drinking skin. ”Here; down it goes!”  
Mûrnaluzh drank without hesitation. Slowly but surely, his stomach stopped trying to kill him from inside and he relaxed with a little whimper as the cramps released him.  
”Can't believe... I've never... The fuck was that?”  
Praktash did not reply. He only sat there with a smug, knowing little smile.   
Mûrnaluzh frowned. ”But... if you knew it was in that bottle... Why haven'tcha taken the cure?”  
”Who says it was in the bottle?”  
”It wasn't..?”  
”Nope. It was in your food. This mornin', to be exact. In the blood porridge.”  
Mûrnaluzh's eyes slowly grew as understanding dawned on him. ”You... You did this! Ya fucking bastard, _you_ did this!!”  
Praktash's only reply was a lazy leer.  
”I won't forget this,” Mûrnaluzh growled. ”You'll fuckin' suffer, you obnoxious little-” He fell silent as Praktash held up a hand; he was no longer smiling.  
”Keep blamin' me all you like,” Praktash growled, ”but this is your own fault! I've no reason to get messy when I could kill ya with a flick of my hand. This was only a taste; I could brew shit up that'd make you blind an' deaf an' send your cock into malfunction for a year! Jump my arse again, I dare ya; I'll double the dose an' leave ya to deal with the result 'til it flushes out on its own!”  
”Then I'll just hafta keep a closer eye on my food,” Mûrnaluzh growled back.  
”You could. But can you look at your drink too at the same time? Can you stop sleepin'? You can't keep those eyes open at all times, an' the moment you close 'em, I'll be there.” He pointed at his own eyes, then at Mûrnaluzh, then he turned to leave. In the doorway, he paused. ”Oh, an' don't even think about messin' with my stuff. I'll know who to come after if I find 'em tampered with, an' the next one to need my help for real might be you. Trust me, you _don't_ want me to mix up the wrong drugs an' make ya bleed out through your nose or somethin'.”  
  
Graznikh and Margzat leered as they watched him walk away.  
”I've no words for how much I _like_ that one,” Graznikh commented.  
”Uh-huh,” Margzat replied. ”He's got that swagger in his hips when he struts off like 'at, all confident-like.”  
”I heard that!” Praktash called.  
”Aye, and that arse... It's _fine_! It was fine before too, but now it's _real_ fine!”  
”I'm thinkin' all 'at runnin' did it some good. Plumped it up, as it were.”  
”Will you stop talkin' about me like that?!” Praktash shouted. ”I can hear ya, y'know!”  
”Aye, we know,” Margzat rumbled fondly. Praktash gave him an exasperated look as he licked a fang with his split tongue, a look that turned into a furious blush as Graznikh joined in, leering at him and snapping his fangs.  
”You... bastards. Bastards! I can't... You're such _dicks_ right now! You... I... Rrraahh!!” Praktash turned on his heel and dove in behind the curtains that surrounded Záhovar's bed. Margzat and Graznikh only chuckled after him.  
”'S even more tickling when it runs off like that,” Graznikh purred.  
”Mmm-hm,” Margzat replied.   
”Stooop!!” came the muffled howl from the bed. ”I'll tell Záza!”  
Margzat's face fell. ”'Záza'?!”  
Graznikh rubbed his forehead. ”Of all the nicknames he could come up with, he had to pick that one...”  
”But it's _cute!_ ” Praktash protested with a teasing grin as he peeked out through the curtains.  
”It's also the nickname the witch used for her when she was her student.”  
”...You just _had_ to tell me that, didn'tcha?”  
”Aye. If she hears you calling her that...”  
”Fine, I get it.” Praktash looked down, no longer smiling. Margzat watched the exchange with a slight frown, but said nothing.

  
Meanwhile, Záhovar had decided to put her would-be Lug-snaga's skills to the test. Sulmurz's Rhûnish had turned out to be of little use; he could present himself and give simple directions, but little more. She had no way of testing his 'Tarkish' since she did not know the language herself, but judging by the ease with which he translated the texts that Ker-Naish had brought, he was more or less fluent.  
Sulmurz groaned as he pushed another pile of maps to the side. ”What'd I do to deserve this? Can'tcha just whip me'n be done with it?”  
”Read,” Záhovar commanded him as she passed by with another load of maps in her hands. ”Every pair of eyes are important.”  
”I feel like I'm back at the colony again,” he whimpered. ”Only my teacher wasn't this cruel!”  
”Welcome to Lugburz.”  
”We're not _in_ Lugburz.”  
” _Read!_ ”  
”Yes master...”  
Záhovar sighed as she sat down and picked up yet another map. She was beginning to lose hope. _So many maps, and still no match. Perhaps Praktash was right; this is nothing but a diversion._   
There was a loud thud from behind, quickly followed by a string of Orcish curses. Sulmurz had gone to fetch more maps but had stumbled on the stair leading down from the gallery and fallen face first on the stone floor. Now he lay in a pile of crumpled maps, snarling in pain and clutching his mouth.  
”Anything broken?” Záhovar asked absently.  
”Nar, but I busted my lip... Who the fuck builds a stair to nowhere in the middle o' the floor?!”  
”It is called aesthetic architecture, I believe.”  
”I don't care what they call it, 's bloody stupid! Skai...” More grumbling followed as he began to pick up the sheets of leather, vellum, parchment and paper that he had dropped.   
”Uhh... Master?”  
Záhovar looked up and saw that he had stopped in front of a mirror and was staring into it. She did not know why there were mirrors in a library, but apparently someone had thought it a good idea at some point.  
”What is it?” she asked.   
Sulmurz picked up a map and held it up in front of the mirror so that east and west were reversed. Then he held up the note.  
”It's flipped,” he said quietly. ”That's why we couldn't find it. Look; when the map's in the mirror, it matches here.” He pointed at a spot on the map.   
Záhovar frowned. ”But... this map does not match any of the others. Where is this place?”  
”Dunno,” Sulmurz replied. ”I can't read the runes either; no idea what they say.”  
”Ker-Naish!”  
Ker-Naish looked up from their book. ”Yes, my lord?”  
”What location does this map depict?”  
Ker-Naish took the fragile old leather sheet and studied it. ”This is a map from before the Great Cataclysm. The shoreline it depicts no longer exist, and the runes... I do not know them. Where was this map placed within the library?”  
”O'er by the skulls,” Sulmurz grunted.  
”Then it is a part of the untranslatable collection. Both the writing systems and the tongues of those texts have been lost to time.”  
”Then we are stuck once more,” Záhovar muttered. ”I thank you nonetheless for your service. I shall return to my quarters to think this through.”  
Ker-Naish nodded and saw them out.

Sulmurz breathed a sigh of relief once they were out in the open air again. ”So we're done now? No more pourin' over dusty ol' maps?”  
”That remains to be seen.” She seemed deep in thought and a little downtrodden.  
”Look, err... Don't beat yerself up over this, I'm sure we'll figure something out!”  
”I do hope so,” Záhovar said quietly. ”I do not look forward to spending the rest of my life on the road in search of a shoreline that does not exist and a man who might already be dead.”  
”So...” He paused a bit to gather his courage. ”Wanna go get something to drink? Nothin' to clear yer head like a big mug o' booze!” He gave her his most charming leer as she glanced at him.  
”Now that you mention it, I do feel a little thirsty,” she replied with a lopsided smirk. ”But where do you intend to take me?”  
Sulmurz had not thought that far. After a moment of light panic, he turned to the nearest trader's stall. The trader jumped as he slammed his fist onto the counter. ”Oi!! Point us to an alehouse fit for a High Officer!”  
The trader stammered something incoherent and gave both Orc and High Officer a white-faced, terrified stare. Záhovar pinched the bridge of her nose briefly. ”<Tell me the way to the nearest pavilion.>”

Following the trader's instructions, they arrived at a strange place; outside a colourful building surrounded by a small park near the shore, a three-tiered terrace had been built. A mosaic floor of green and white marble filled the space beneath a large canopy of wine-red silk that was held up by gilded wooden poles and lit by multihued silk lanterns. Its location on a small hill provided a beautiful view of the sea.  
”This shit's fancy,” Sulmurz murmured as he gave the pavilion a wide-eyed look. ”How d'ya get drunk here without levelin' the place?”  
”Is that what we intend to do?” Záhovar asked amusedly.  
”Isn't that the whole point?” Sulmurz grinned.  
”I doubt you will find anything strong enough to bring an Orc to that state of mind.”  
Sulmurz chuckled. ”Wanna bet on it? Eep!” he added when he realised that he had just tried to bet against a High Officer. Záhovar only smiled.  
Scattered gasps were heard as they stepped inside, and it did not take long before every pair of eyes in the pavilion were focused on them. Sulmurz cowered a little but Záhovar remained unconcerned, striding up to the nearest waiter like a queen.  
”<Must I reserve a table, or may we sit wherever we please?>”  
The waiter seemed to have lost his tongue; he gawked first at her, then at the Orc by her side.  
”The High Officer spoke to ya,” Sulmurz growled, not caring that the Man could not understand. Another waiter quickly rushed up and slapped the first hard. Sulmurz grinned a little. The second waiter told the first off and sent him running into the building in the back, then he bowed deeply before Záhovar.  
”Our humblest greetings and deepest apologies, your Elevated Ladyship,” he said in broken Common. ”Allow me to welcome you most whole-heartedly to The Weeping Whale! Please, forget that foolish boy. I shall work myself to the bone to ensure that this mishap never occurs again! And so will he. Please; choose whatever table you want! Mind not the occupants; they will move if you wish it so. I shall be at your service for the entirety of your stay here.”  
”Thank you,” Záhovar replied. ”Your forthcoming is appreciated.” She nodded to Sulmurz and strode away. They chose a table off to the side, behind a green, fragrant reed screen that shielded them from most of the eyes.  
”I don't get it,” Sulmurz said as he sat down. ”You're the one they should be scared o', not me.”  
”The unfamiliar tend to be more frightening,” Záhovar replied. ”I appear Mannish enough not to stand out of the crowd, despite my armour. You, on the other hand...”   
”'M an ugly weird critter,” he filled in with a bitter scowl.  
The smile disappeared from Záhovar's face. ”No. You are a seasoned Orc warrior, taking orders directly from a high-ranking High Officer. Not to mention that you saved that Officer's life, _and_ have been of great help during the latest stage of her mission.” She snapped her fingers and the waiter appeared at her side.   
”At your service, your Elevated Ladyship.”  
”It has reached my ears that you serve dishes beyond the local fare,” Záhovar said.  
”That is correct, your Elevated Ladyship. Would you like to see the menu?”  
”Perhaps later. For now, I have only one question; how is the aurochs?”  
The waiter smiled. ”Just in, the day before yesterday to be precise.”  
Sulmurz had been eyeing her sceptically as she recounted his deeds, but now he gave her a look of raw hope. ”Ye're not serious...”  
”But I am,” she replied softly. Then she turned to the waiter. ”I will have two aurochs steaks, a carafe of Dorwinion White and a jug of the best black ale you have.” The waiter bowed again and left.   
Sulmurz could still not believe his ears. ”Ye're not serious!”  
Záhovar smiled. ”It is time you reaped some of the benefits of your position. Being my Lug-snaga is not all about hard work, dreary journeys and risking your life for Lugburz. There is pleasure, too. Some kinds you are already well-acquainted with, and others...” She paused as the waiter returned.  
”The steaks will be ready in just a moment,” he said as he placed the drinks and utensils on the table. Then he poured the transparent wine into a fine glass chalice and the frothy ale in a tankard of dark green porcelain.  
”Others,” Záhovar continued as she raised her glass, ”you have only just begun to explore.”  
  
Sulmurz took the tankard in both hands with an almost reverent look. His nose exploded with aromas with every inhale and he began to purr before even taking a sip. Then he did so, and did not put the tankard down before he had emptied it.  
”'M gonna start cryin' like that Uruk,” he murmured.  
”It was to your liking then?”  
”What, are you bloody kiddin'? This shit's gonna figure in my dreams for years to come!” He closed his eyes with a big, contented grin. Then he burped. ”So... I'm Lug-snaga now? I mean, ya said that.”  
”I did. And yes, I see you as such.”  
”But... I've no collar.”  
”You will have one when we return to Thaurband. The making of one is a complicated and lengthy process. But it is only a symbol, albeit an important one. The title itself you already hold.”  
Then their food arrived, and Sulmurz forgot all about collars and ales for a moment. The cut of steak put before him was both large and thick, marbled and with a thick cap of glistening fat. He threw a glance at Záhovar; she had picked up her knife and fork and begun to cut hers up. He picked his fork up in his claws and gave her a pleading look. ”Do I _have_ to?”  
”Of course not,” she replied. ”Eat however you want; those who matter will not judge and those who judge does not matter.”  
Sulmurz skipped all further talk, grabbed the steak with both hands and dug in. It was perfectly salted and whoever had cooked it had neither overdone it or heaped on spices like some Men were wont to do. Fat oozed down his chin with every bite and he had to stop once in a while to wipe it off with a fist and lick it up.   
Záhovar ate with far more moderation and watched her snaga's gorging with an amused little smile. Along with the steaks had followed a little bowl with some kind of white, grainy condiment, and Sulmurz soon noticed her dipping the tip of her knife in it and coating each bite before she put it in her mouth. Curious about what it was, he dipped a claw in it and licked it off. At first, the taste was rather mellow, but it grew stronger and soon he reached for the tankard in a desperate attempt to wash it down. ”I feel like I've fire ants all over my tongue! What the fuck is that stuff?!”  
”Horseradish,” Záhovar explained. ”And sourcream.”  
He gave her a strange look. ”And... where does sourcream come from?”  
She frowned. ”I do not know. Shall I ask the waiter?” She arched an eyebrow as he began to snicker. ”What are you laughing about?”  
”It's milk,” Sulmurz snorted. Záhovar's crestfallen expression made him laugh even harder; he simply could not stop.  
”Why do they put this in everything?!” Záhovar asked with an exasperated scowl.  
”Tarks love their titty-juice,” Sulmurz managed to say before breaking down again.  
Záhovar smirked at him. ”Are you drunk already?”  
It took Sulmurz some time to get a hold of himself once more. ”Nar, I just can't stop thinkin' 'bout the looks on yer faces when I told ya that first time!”  
Záhovar laughed softly and he immediately sobered up and gave her a frightened look.  
”What?”  
”'S just that... Well, Graznikh said that, uhh-”  
”What did he say?”  
”That, err... when ya start laughin' at jokes, then... You're about to blow the way ya did the other night.”  
Her smile returned. ”I am not exhausted, hungry and suffering from a lack of sleep. You need not fear; I will not 'blow' anywhere tonight.”  
Sulmurz grinned back. ”Ya don't need to worry 'bout the gravy. It's gross, not deadly.” His eyes narrowed. Then he bit off a piece of meat, stuck it on his fork and dipped it in the white goo. Then he quickly gobbled it up before the sting returned in earnest. ”It _is_ kinda strong though,” he wheezed, and grinned when Záhovar laughed. ”So... whaddya drink?”  
”Dorwinion White,” she replied and held the glass up towards the nearest lantern. ”A rare kind of wine that is made on the western shores of the sea of Rhûn. Flavourful and very potent.”  
”Potent, huh? Not enough for ya, right? I mean... I've seen ya down just as much as the rest o' us and still sit up straight when us others passed out.”  
”This is indeed potent enough. _Even_ for me.”  
Sulmurz leered. ”Then maybe we should bring a barrel o' that to the next booze night, eh? You'll down that while the rest o' us go for this.” He tapped the tankard in his hand with a claw. That was too much for the delicate handle; it broke off and shattered on the floor with a loud tinkle.  
”Shit!!” he squeaked and managed to catch the tankard without spilling more than a few drops. He breathed a sigh of relief as he put it down on the table. ”Who the fuck makes tankards outta this anyway? Useless stuff.”  
”At least you did not lose its contents. That would have been the true disaster!”  
”Tell me about it!” He gave her glass a look. ”So... What's that taste like?”  
Záhovar looked at her glass. ”It is hard to describe. Like wine, and yet not. It is... fresher somehow. It... tastes like the Desolation feels when you walk through it? No, I cannot describe it.” She held it out to him. ”Shall we trade? One sip of mine for one of yours?”  
Sulmurz glanced at his tankard with some hesitation, but his curiosity got the better of him. He took a sip of the clear liquid and moved it around in his mouth. Then he swallowed with a wince. ”Didn't taste 'at strong to me. Bit bland, really.” He waited for uncomfortable surprises, but nothing happened. He handed it back to her with a shrug.  
”Tastes vary, I suppose,” Záhovar said as she took the glass. ”But now it is my turn.”   
  
Sulmurz reluctantly pushed the tankard towards her. After taking her sip she quickly put it down with a wince. ”It is bitter! Do you enjoy this?”  
”Aye, I like it well enough,” Sulmurz replied with a grin. ”Tastes a bit like war smells, like burnin' wood'n clashin' steel'n crackin' flints.” He grinned a little. ”The only thing what'd make this better was if Graznikh was here...”  
Záhovar smiled. ”Is that so? You two are closer than it seems.”  
”Wha... Nar! I mean, not... Not like _that._ It's just that we used to talk 'bout stuff like this, 'bout eatin' aurochs'n gettin' drunk, I wouldn'ta minded sharin' this moment.”  
”You know, I did plan on having a barrel sent to the palace, along with an ample amount of aurochs meat. A shank perhaps, or a full rib or two...”  
Sulmurz looked up. ”Ya did?”  
She smirked. ”Feel free to tell the others that you talked me into it. I do not mind that little lie. Perhaps it will help to improve your standing in their eyes.”  
Sulmurz could hardly believe his luck. ”'At's... That's...”  
”A bit of advice; do not mention this,” she motioned towards the table. ”Have them believe that you chose to share your entire reward with them.”  
”Why're ya doin' this?” Sulmurz asked as they walked back to the palace. Night had long since fallen and the sky was dotted with stars inbetween the smoke pillars from the city's many fires fueled by peat and dried manure. ”Why do this for me?”  
”Because you are my snaga; your strength is my strength, your weakness a liability I cannot afford. And a weak link is better strengthened than discarded.”  
Sulmurz nodded. ”Makes sense.” Then he froze and his breath caught in his throat as she leaned in close.  
”And,” she whispered, her lips brushing his ear, ”I do enjoy the company of this particular link.”  
Sulmurz could only purr in reply. The rest of the way they walked in silence; he was too embarrassed and happily confused to speak.  
  
  
When they returned, Graznikh met them in the door with a piece of paper in his hand.  
”Message for ya,” he told Záhovar as he handed her the note. ”Something about a dinner.”  
”Ah... I wondered how long it would take him to set things up.”  
”'Him'?”  
Záhovar smiled. ”Jealousy, my Lug-snaga? You need not worry about my safety; you will be watching over me.”  
Graznikh's face fell. ”I will? What is this 'dinner' exactly?”  
”A... What did he say? 'A chance to form new contacts within the priesthood', I believe.”  
” _Who_ said that?”  
”Hanikh, vice high priest of the One.”  
Praktash had been dozing in Margzat's lap, but now he perked up. ”Hold on; the Temple of the One? Did he wear a steel mask?”  
Záhovar gave him an odd look. ”How do you know what the Priests of the One wear?”  
”'Cause I...” He trailed off and threw the others a conspiratory glance. ”I was gonna tell ya, but it slipped my mind with all the other goings-on. I... might've happened to fuck one of those, yesternight. Before we went to pick you up. He turned out to be an assassin, but I... 'convinced' him to do somethin' else with his life instead.”  
”He _what?!_ ” Graznikh exclaimed. ”Why didn'tcha tell me?!”  
”It slipped my mind, what with all the other stuff that happened.”  
”So someone tries to kill ya and you just _forget_ about it?”  
”Yeah..?”  
”Leave it for now,” Záhovar said sternly. ”What did you find?”  
”He said he'd help me out,” Praktash replied. ”Point me to the guy that sent him to kill me.”  
”And you let him go on his word alone? He could be leagues away by now, or informed his masters that I am on their trail! You should have brought him to me!”  
”But you weren't there! The fuck was I supposed to do, drag him out in the open kickin' an' screamin'?”  
”I doubt the townsfolk woulda been happy about an Uruk laying hands on one o' their priests,” Graznikh said. ”That woulda sent a message to the ones out to kill ya for sure, bright and clear. Ease off, âmbal. He did the best he could.”  
Záhovar gave Graznikh an angry look, but let it pass. ”Very well. Let us wait and see if your mercy brings any good.”  
”He knows I know who he is,” Praktash pointed out. ”He all but said he was a member of one of the families holdin' a seat among the Top Ones in this place, an' I get the feelin' his dallyin' with whores wouldn't sit well with 'em.”  
They waited patiently as Záhovar thought. ”A priest and a member of the local nobility. I am loath to ask Hanikh about it as I do not trust the man. I know I told the khagan that I had no interest in local politics, but perhaps it is time to rethink that decision. This dinner could be an opportunity to find out more.” She shook her head. ”So many strings to pull...”  
”Alright,” Praktash said with a grin as he rose. ”I know the trick to sort this out.” He left, but returned shortly after with the little travel writing kit that Záhovar had given him. After rolling out a parchment on the floor, he began to write.  
”So... Chief suspects; nameless assassin, Nev-Alisher, code name 'Alice'. Possible connections-”  
”Why would he need a code name?” Sulmurz asked. ”An' come on; 'Alice'?!”  
”Why would he _not_ need a code name?” Praktash replied. ”All proper spies an' assassins have one.”  
”How d'ya know?”  
”Have you ever _seen_ the fiction category in the Lugburz library? The mystery novels're awesome!”  
”'Fiction' means that it is imaginary,” Záhovar explained. ”None of those stories are real.”  
”But they _could_ be,” Praktash pointed out. ”Nothin' says they couldn't!”  
”Believe me; some of them are so unrealistic that-”  
”Aww, but Záááhovar!”  
She let out an exasperated sigh. ”Very well! Code names it is.”  
”Yesss!” Praktash returned to his writing with an excited grin. ”Alright; possible connections...”  
”Duerrin, member of the khagan,” Záhovar said. ”He spoke out against me in the assembly and is unusually well-informed about my doings in the south.”  
”Aye,” Graznikh said. ”He said it himself; ''your' master.' Not his. If that's not a sign he's with the tarks, I dunno what is.”  
”Dachman is still unaccounted for. Let us not rule out his hand; we do not know who is truly behind these attempts.”  
”Could he've gone rogue?” Sulmurz asked. ”I mean, joined the tarks?  
Záhovar frowned. ”I do not know.”  
”I don't think so,” Graznikh said. ”He hates tarks almost as much as he hates El-... As he hates Záhovar.” He winced. ”As much as I wanna knife the bastard, I can't see him joining their ranks.”  
Praktash frowned as he looked at what he had written. ”That tark khagan fellow seems a little obvious, don'tcha think? If he was after ya for real, why would he be so in your face with it? Seems to me like he's just another false fire.”  
”What do you mean?”  
”Y'know, like what the snufflers did to get at those mushrooms. Light a fire someplace else to make us look that way while the one responsible sneaks the other way.”  
Záhovar smirked. ”Are you saying that I should look the other way when he starts throwing insults?”  
”That's _exactly_ what I'm sayin',” Praktash replied with a grin. ”Common mystery trope. Next time he causes a scene, keep some eyes behind your back. He might be as used as that smack-down sniper.” He worried his lip as he studied the parchment. ”Those masks really make things harder... An' I don't mean dicks this time. I could give ya a description of Alice, but there's no point if he's gonna be wearin' that mask all the time.”  
”The enemy could hide among the priests with ease,” Graznikh pointed out. ”All they hafta do is knock someone out and take their mask.” He snorted. ”Fucking cowards.”

”What are these 'priests' for anyway?” Praktash asked. ”I tried to ask Alice, but I didn't get half o' what he was sayin' with all the stutterin'.”  
All three Orcs looked at Záhovar.  
”They are links, so to speak,” she tried to explain. ”They carry the decrees of our Master to the race of Men and help them join the fold. Within the realm they root out doubt and discord and in Enemy territory they sow it.”  
”So... they go around tellin' others that we're better than them?”  
”Simply put, yes.”  
”An'... that works?”  
Záhovar smirked. ”There are always those who are unsatisfied with their lot in life. Some are unsatisfied enough to be willing to turn against their superiors, for the right price. For some, that price lies in riches, but for others it lies in the next world. Or the next life, whatever they believe in.”  
Sulmurz frowned. ”The folks back in th' colony used to say they'd go sit with the 'Father' after they died. Bloody stupid way to spend yer time, if ya ask me.”  
”What colony?”  
Sulmurz froze and something panicked crept into his eyes. Praktash cocked his head and leaned forward with a curious smile. ”What colony, Sully?”  
Sulmurz shot him a venomous glance. ”None o' yer business.”  
”There's no bloody point in hiding it now, is there?” Graznikh told him. ”If you won't tell him, then I will!”  
”Hide what?” Praktash asked.  
”Thanks,” Sulmurz snarled. ”Real fuckin' appreciated!”  
”You started it!”  
”Can you two snagas quit quibblin' an' get down to it?” Praktash asked with a happy grin. ”You're really cute when you're at it, but I don't get any less curious here.”  
Sulmurz looked away with a hesitant scowl.  
”Fine,” Graznikh said. ”He grew up among tarks.”  
Praktash's face was a study in astonished mirth. ”He _what?_ ”  
”Ya heard him,” Sulmurz muttered. He bared his fangs as Praktash giggled.  
”Well...” Praktash said once he had his good humour under control. ”That explains a lot, really.”  
”Don't get ideas,” Sulmurz told him.  
”Don't worry, Sully-boy; I've already had 'em all.” He grinned as Graznikh broke down into a snickering heap on the floor.  
”Can I leave,” Sulmurz asked Záhovar with a languid expression.  
”Despite the joyous occasion?” she protested mildly. ”You may go.”  
”You look tired,” Praktash said. ”Want a backrub? I wasn't talkin' to you,” he added when Sulmurz opened his mouth to reply. ”Master?”  
  
It did not take long for Záhovar to make up her mind. The moment she nodded, Praktash dove down on Graznikh, who was so busy ogling Záhovar that he did not notice the approaching Uruk until he caught him by the armpits and hoisted him into the air. He let out a loud yelp that was abruptly silenced as Praktash slammed him against the nearest wall.  
”I've got a little reminder for ya,” Praktash purred into his dazed face. Then he proceeded to kiss and grope him mercilessly until Graznikh's knees gave out. Then he backed off just as abruptly and wrapped an arm around Záhovar's shoulders and winked at Sulmurz, who had been watching the exchange with an incomprehensible expression.  
”Sully?”  
”Huh?!” Sulmurz replied.  
Praktash chuckled. ”Now if I didn't know you were a prissy little tark-fucker, I might've believed you enjoyed watchin' that. An' if you had, you might've gotten some too. But you are, so I don't.”  
Sulmurz frowned in confusion.  
”Praktash...” Záhovar warned.  
”I said I wouldn't, didn't I? Don't worry, Záza, I'll-”  
Záhovar's eyes narrowed dangerously. ”Záza?!”   
Praktash clamped his hands over his mouth with a terrified squeak. Záhovar gave him a cold smirk and beckoned for him to follow with a finger . ”You have some things to explain to me, my Lug-snaga... _after_ the backrub.”  
Graznikh wobbled slightly as he left the wall. ”I'm not sure what hurts more, my head or my cock... Wanna play something?”  
”Nar...” Sulmurz replied absently while staring after the Officer and the Uruk. ”Been a bloody long day. I'mma bury myself in pillows'n take a nap.”

 


	20. You Asked For It

The following morning, Graznikh kicked Sulmurz awake and dragged him upstairs for an early combat lesson before breakfast. He figured that since Záhovar was serious about making him Lug-snaga, he had to become a better fighter. Sulmurz complained that he already knew his way with weapons, but the first sparring session proved that he could not hold his ground against Graznikh. After letting him go, Graznikh washed off the worst of the sweat and made sure he still had the metal jar that Praktash had given him. Then he made for the master bedroom.  
  
  
Záhovar sat crosslegged on the bed, buried in paperwork, looking over maps and comparing notes. She had only just awoken from the looks of it; her hair was still tangled and unkempt and she wore only her tunic, loosely tied. On the nearby table was a tray with assorted breakfast foods and beverages, seemingly forgotten. She had not noticed him yet so he took a moment to admire her. The sudden urge to push the papers and books off the table, throw her on it and fuck her until it broke underneath them made his breath quicken and he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand before walking closer.  
She looked up from the book as he unceremoniously dumped the little jar on it. ”What is this?”  
”Just a little something I got from the market,” he murmured while filling, downing and refilling a mug with booze, too nervous to look at her. He could hear her open the jar and sniff the contents. Then she sneezed, and Graznikh felt as though his heart was in a free fall through the floor. _Fuck!  
_ ”What is this?” Záhovar asked after a moment of silence, her voice much quieter than before.  
Graznikh tried his best to look indifferent as he turned around to face his failure. ”'S just some hair salve, or pomade or whatever it's called. Apparently the nobles here use it, and I thought... Well, that you'd... like... Sha, nevermind.”  
She sniffed the salve again, at a safer distance this time, and the corners of her mouth twitched. ”I _do_ like it.” Graznikh's heart skipped a beat. She put the jar down and met his gaze. ”Speak then.”  
Graznikh arched a heavy eyebrow. ”Speak?”  
”Yes. You brought this to me for a reason, did you not? What do you want?”  
”Wha..? Nar, I didn't mean to... It's just a gift.”  
Záhovar's expression did not change. ”So you want nothing in return for this?”  
Graznikh opened his mouth to confirm that that was indeed the case, but hesitated. He was no fool; he could smell an opportunity. Slowly he bared his fangs in a little leer. _Time to gamble!_ ”On second thought... there _is_ something I want.”  
”And what would that be?”  
”A kiss.”  
Now her expression changed into one of such surprise that Graznikh almost laughed. _Didn't expect that, did ya?_ ”A... kiss?”  
”A _proper_ kiss, tongue'n all.” Graznikh grinned as she glanced down at the jar in her hand. ”What? Not worth it?”  
She returned the jar to the table and stood with a solemn look. ”Very well. Let us kiss.”

She had barely straightened her tunic before Graznikh had crossed the room and caught her by the waist, backed her up against the wall and pinned her to it with his weight. There was a brief flash of red as his eyes met hers before he closed in and claimed his prize. Záhovar was unsure of what to think about the situation. _Why would he bargain thus for what I would give for free, if he were but to ask for it?_ But she had missed him, so she pushed the insult aside... for now.  
Despite his vigilance against assassins, Graznikh had begun to relax a little. He only wore his armour when venturing out into the streets; in the guest wing, he stuck to only loincloth, chaps and tunic. He even went barefoot. Now as he pressed her body against his own, there were no hard parts causing discomfort. _Or... no_ metal _parts, at least,_ she thought.  
Graznikh began to purr excitedly against her mouth, punctuated by sharp intakes of breath as he sniffed her. His hands wandered down her hips and up, pulling her tunic up to fondle the skin underneath. He broke the kiss when she moved to stop him.  
”I have things to do,” she protested.  
”Really? You gonna trade me in for Sulmurz?”  
”What does Sulmurz have to do with this?”  
”You think I didn't smell what you've been doing?”  
”He nearly gave his life for me. That warrants some reward, think you not?”  
”Aye, he saved yer life. Once! And where the fuck've I been all these years?!” Graznikh snarled. ”You think a pity fuck while you're at it with him'll keep me sated and silent for another six moons? Because patient ol' Graznikh'll wait, he always does! Ya already have him by the balls, so why bother giving him anything?”  
”Are you jealous?”  
”Nar, I'm lonely! You bloody expect me to twiddle my dick in a corner while everyone else gets it on? Between you'n Sulmurz, Praktash'n Margzat I feel like the fucking third wheel on two fronts! You say you've got things to do; what's so bloody important that you can call it off to hang out with Sully, but not with me?”  
Záhovar had no answer to that. Slowly she returned her hands to where they had previously been resting on his shoulders.  
”Ya promised not to forget,” Graznikh whispered. ”Is it stupid o' me to cling to that? I got nothin' else!”  
”No... No, you are not. Perhaps I have been unfair.”  
He gave her a lopsided little smile. ”Aye... 'perhaps'.” He closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against hers. ”D'ya remember what you called me the night before yesterday? When you were still drunk enough not to walk straight?”  
Záhovar frowned. ”No... So much of that night is hazy to me.”  
”'Raven'..?”  
Her eyes widened. ”Hravanya...”  
Graznikh's smile widened. ”Aye... Remember what it means?”  
”No... I do not even know what tongue that word is.”  
”It's Elvish.”  
A concerned frown spread over her usually cold features. ”Elvish?!”  
”Aye, you used to speak it.” He frowned as she closed her eyes and turned her head away. ”Âmbal? You're not gonna have one o' those fits again, are ya?”  
”Fits? No, it is just...” She shook her head. ”It is too dangerous. What if I begin to use such words among those who would recognise them for what they are? If the wrong people find out...”  
”Kraash already did, but I steered his head in another direction. Don'tcha worry âmbal, I'll cover for ya any night o' the week.”  
Her smile made him melt. ”It would seem I owe you more than I know.”  
”I don't want'cha to fuck me outta gratitude. Besides, I'm all soft.”  
”Well, that will not do,” Záhovar whispered. Graznikh's eyes grew round as he felt her hands sneak into his loincloth and he whimpered quietly as the little fingers wrapped around his cock. Never before had she taken the initiative in this manner!  
”Whether you believe it or not,” she said against his lips as she made him back up towards the bed, ”there is _no one_ like you, my wildling. Too often do I take you for granted, you who are always there and never falters, and sometimes I needs be reminded of your true worth.”  
As the back of his knees hit the edge of the bed, Graznikh grabbed Záhovar's waist and spun around. She cried out in surprise as he dropped her onto the bed; Graznikh followed suit with a horny leer.  
”Âmbal,” he purred as he licked her neck and ear. ”Kafsokhôr... Gurb-ashî...”  
”Tailurz hravanya,” Záhovar murmured back as she pulled his leather shirt off and trailed the scars on his back with her fingers. There was no word for 'savage' in the Black Speech, but Záhovar pronounced the Elvish word as though it was of the former tongue and Graznikh found it to his liking. Then he snarled as she dug her nails into his tough hide and clawed him sweetly.  
  
”You silver-tongued little she-cat,” he chuckled once she let go. After straddling her hips, he untied her tunic and carelessly tossed it aside. He was about to have his loincloth go the same way, but Záhovar did it in his stead. That was a sweet sight, watching his once oh so shy Elf tug at the badly tied belt. Once she was done he grabbed her arms and pulled her up. A deep rumble grew in his chest as she began to fondle him again, and Graznikh leaned against her shoulder while enjoying the moment. Then she began to nible his ear and he roughly threw her back down.  
”Nice try,” he growled with a leer, ”but if you think I'm gonna let ya work me over with just hands, then you're wrong. Nar my sweet, that might be a fun game to play another time, but I'm not in the mood right now. You'll work for that salve!”  
Záhovar was no match for him in the physical sense. The moment he fell upon her, she considered lashing out in other ways, but his hands were suddenly everywhere and she gave in to sensation.  
_That's right,_ Graznikh thought as he worked her over. _I remember the first time I made ya sound like this. And I can do it all over again, mark my words! You're not gonna forget me that easily!_  
Záhovar soon lay still with closed eyes and slightly parted lips, completely succumbed to his ministrations. He could tell by her scent and the pattern of her gasping breaths that she was close to the edge.  
”Like that, don'tcha?” he purred in her ear and she nodded absently. ”That's too bad; I'm not in the mood to let ya off the hook just yet.”  
”You are cruel,” she protested as he withdrew his fingers and turned her over.  
”It's yer own fault,” he replied hoarsely. ”All that toying with my cock aforehead, what the fuck did ya think would happen?” He chuckled at her moan as he impaled her. ”Now you're just faking it! What, izzat what you've been doing to Sulmurz to make him such a snaga?”  
”For someone so adamant on not being jealous, you do bring his name up a lot,” Záhovar retorted. Graznikh only laughed and thrust faster, delighting in her face contorting and her whimpers turning genuine. He could not hold out for long, but spunking once did little to dampen his arousal. Záhovar's hands found his thighs and urged him deeper, closer, her whimpers soon turned to moans and then cries as he obeyed and gave her all that he had to give.  
”Good gal,” he purred as she voiced her climax. ”Let it out! Let those poor bastards out there hear what they can sniff but not touch! This is one sweet craving they'll never slake...”  
”You would not dare!” she snarled as he began to pull out. ”You are not done here!”  
”Oops,” he snickered. ”That's one bloody expensive salve!” He laughed out loud as she slapped him, catching her wrists and forcing them down above her head. ”Alright then,” he purred and teased one of her nipples with his tongue. ”I guess I can accept a higher price...”  
Záhovar let out a growl and tried to kick him, but it was a futile attempt; she was back at his mercy the moment he started thrusting again.

Later, Graznikh voiced his final wave of ecstasy with a gasping roar and Záhovar grunted as he collapsed on top of her. She tried to push him off, but he caught her and rolled over with a weary chuckle. Záhovar gave up on fighting him and sprawled out on his chest instead, enjoying the afterglow and the tickle of his claws where his hand rested on her buttock. Graznikh lay with closed eyes, a faint smile on his lips, purring slightly with every breath.  
”You have a strange idea of what constitutes a kiss,” Záhovar whispered after a while of silence.  
Graznikh chuckled softly. ”And you need to learn the difference between a kiss and a fuck, âmbal.” Then he opened an eye and brushed her ear with a claw. ”Skai, I needed that! Tokens well spent.” Záhovar's hand caressed his cheek and Graznikh turned his head towards her with a fond leer. Then his cheek exploded in pain and his head snapped back and hit the bedpost with a crack.  
”Think you that I am some morsel who trades her flesh for trinkets and treats?” Záhovar hissed as she got up. ”Think you that this encounter was one you bought with _that?_ ” She nodded towards the jar. ”Then allow me to educate you; it was not. I offered you a privilege, but if this is how you value it then I will withdraw that offer! I have no use for your pathetic insults.”  
Graznikh shook his spinning head and tried to grasp what had just happened. ”Wha..?” Záhovar disappeared out of sight and as he sat up, the little ornate metal jar landed in his lap.  
”Keep it,” she said coldly. ”I am not your whore.”  
Graznikh had never sobered up so fast. ”Nar,” he snarled, ”you're clearly everything but. And you've really refined the art o' ruining a perfectly good moment!” He tossed the jar onto the bed. ”Keep it yerself. I didn't buy that shit for me.” He continued to growl as he got up and began to dress. His head hurt and all the feel-good had completely drained from him. _I can't believe that finicky bitch! She gets_ everything _wrong!  
_ Meanwhile, Záhovar watched him coldly. ”I did not give you permission to leave.”  
”See if I care.”  
”Oh, you will.”  
”Whatever; I'm outta here. Have a good bloody morning!”  
”No, you are not.”  
The moment Graznikh touched the door handle, his breathing stopped and his hands went to his throat. The iron collar seemed to tighten like a noose without moving at all and Graznikh barely had time to turn and look at Záhovar before the lack of air made panic and survival instinct take over and he fell to the floor. Záhovar watched with a cold, calculating expression as he desperately fought for his life; ironically she seemed more Elf-like now than Graznikh had ever seen her. His lungs burned, his eyes watered and he _could not breathe...  
_ The moment before he lost consciousness, she released the noose. Her expression did not change in the slightest as he croaked and wheezed at her feet. One look at her face, one last feeble attempt to reach out through the unresponsive bond and Graznikh could not stand her presence a moment longer. He scrambled to his feet and ran.

  
Once he was well out of hearing range from the rest of the group, Graznikh could no longer hold himself together. Along one wall in the little audience room on the upper floor stood a luxurious couch in a rich blue colour with silver decorations that had not yet been plundered by the others. He roared and tore into the cushions with both claws and teeth, taking his anger out on them instead of the true target.  
”What do you want from me, you crazy bitch?! I've done every bloody thing you asked of me, what more do you want?! I don't get... I don't... Rrraaahh!!” He let out another wordless roar as confusion and pain overwhelmed him. Then his voice sank into a whisper as he threw the emptied, shredded pillowcase to the floor. ”What the fuck've I done to deserve this..?”  
”Wow.” Graznikh looked up just in time to see Kraash lean against the door post and throw the ruined couch a critical look. ” _Somebody_ sure doesn't like blue.”  
”What the fuck d'ya want?”  
Kraash shrugged. ”Heard the noise. Got curious. What?” he growled as he noticed Graznikh's hostile glare. ”I ain't done nothing.”  
”Like fuck you haven't,” Graznikh growled back as he advanced on him. ”You did _something_ back in the Desolation, during that hunt! What the fuck did you do?”  
”Didn't take ya for a virgin,” Kraash snickered. ”I banged her proper, 's what I did.”  
”A fuck wouldn't turn her all crazy like this!”  
”A proper fuck's _supposed_ to drive 'em crazy! What the fuck did they teach ya west o' the mountains?”  
”Does turning you opa-snaga seem like she enjoyed it to you?”  
Kraash cackled. ”That? Sha! That's just a test, to see if I can hold up for the rough play.”  
Graznikh couldn't believe his ears. ”That's not Záhovar!”  
”Or maybe it is, only you didn't get it before now,” Kraash pointed out with a leer. ”Maybe the reason she didn't treat ya to it's 'cause she knows you couldn't take it. 'Cause you're too _soft_ for her taste.” His cackling laughter made Graznikh see red; Kraash did not even try to dodge as he threw himself at him with a roar.  
”By the flaming bloody Eye, I'll send ya the same way as those pillows!!” He staggered back as Kraash shoved him, drew a knife and attacked him with a furious shriek. The ensuing fight did not last long before Draumaturz appeared seemingly out of nowhere and yanked Kraash away. The Orc bellowed in pain as the Uruk broke his arm, then promptly silenced him with a well-aimed fist to the temple. Draumaturz threw him aside like a discarded doll once he went limp. Graznikh leaned against the wall, clutching his side where Kraash's knife had bit deep, too jacked up on adrenaline to feel any pain.  
”Did it go through?” Draumaturz asked.  
Graznikh shook his head. ”Just a scratch.” After taking a closer look, he added: ”but my guts'll be all over the floor if I let go.”  
Draumaturz nodded. ”Then don't. I'll get Praktash.”  
Graznikh nodded and watched as Draumaturz legged it downstairs. His face felt cold, and suddenly he was afraid. He swallowed carefully to avoid coughing, knowing that it would probably rip open what little held his abdominal muscles together.

Praktash was livid when he arrived on the scene.  
”You bloody make sure I work my arse off, don'tcha?! If there's no reason to fight, you make one up just for an excuse to knife each other! Stupid little dickwads!”  
”Did we interrupt ya in the middle of a fuck, or what?” Graznikh gasped and groaned as Praktash pinched his jaw.  
”Don'tcha fuckin' _dare_ gimme lip right now, or I'll leave ya like this! Skai karkû-vrâstaturz bagshatîgatok...” He made Graznikh remove his arm briefly so that he could take a closer look. ”Shit... I need someone with strong fingers an' steady hands here right this moment!”  
Margzat stepped forward. Praktash instructed him to hook his claws into the skin above and below the cut and then squeeze his fingers together to keep the cut from widening as he made Graznikh lie down. He barked for the others to bring something to carry him on. There was a ruckus from a nearby room and soon after, Lîrnash and Urkhish returned with an upside down table. They helped move Graznikh onto it and then carried him out into the large dining room.  
”This is some strong shit,” Praktash told him as he measured and mixed ingredients for a painkiller. ”I'm gonna pour some right onto the cut too, an' it has to be done while it's hot. It'll hurt like I'm diggin' a hole there at first, but whatever the fuck you do, _don't_ twist! You'll go numb soon enough. Got it?”  
Graznikh nodded. _Anything to get away from this pain..._ He eagerly gulped down the hot, thick liquid once Praktash deemed it ready and steeled himself for the test.  
It did not hurt anywhere near as much as he thought it would, and soon he drifted away into a fuzzy half-consciousness. Praktash waited for his surgeon's needles to cool after simmering in hot water before he threaded one and began to stitch. The Uruks hovered nearby, pretending to look indifferent.  
”Quit skulkin' around back there,” Praktash said loudly. ”If you wanna look, then come look! You're breakin' my focus with all that shufflin'.” After a moment of surprise, they sheepishly came closer to study his doings.  
  
While most of the Uruks had never been outside of the borders of Lugburz before, they had all seen battle, injury and death. They knew full well what kind of injuries would kill and which would not, and that was probably why they were so curious. Praktash did not need to tell them how bad Graznikh's wound was; they already knew. Had he not been there so fast, it would have killed him. _”'Just a scratch', my flowery-smellin' arse!_  
Draumaturz especially seemed to follow his every move with calculating curiosity, as if trying to memorise them.  
”It's sure not like sewin' leather,” Praktash murmured, as if to himself.  
”'Cause o' the muscles,” Draumaturz murmured back. They exchanged a brief look and Praktash nodded.  
”See how they lie like threads under the skin? Can't sew straight across if you want 'em to stay in place an' heal proper. So you crisscross like this, back an' forth an' up, then pull it all tight.” He reached for the little scissors he used to cut the thread and found that Draumaturz was holding them out to him. He took them without a word.  
”This string'll have to be pulled out later,” Praktash said once he was done. ”But not before the muscle has set. Cuts like these're nasty; it's so much easier when they follow the muscle, not slice across them like this.”  
”Will he make it?” Margzat asked.  
Praktash nodded as he washed his hands. ”As long as the cut's kept clean an' he doesn't start jumpin' about prematurely like that idiot over there,” he said and pointed at Ghrazagh.  
”I'm lying down now,” Ghrazagh muttered and took a swig from a bottle.  
”But you weren't earlier! Skai, I miss the peace an' quiet of my drugstore. Excludin' certain _chafes_ o' course.” He heard Margzat chuckle as he turned back to check on Graznikh's other wounds. He had ruined his knuckles already before the fight with Kraash, but nothing seemed to be broken. He only had to pick some splinters and feathers out with a pair of pincers before washing and wrapping them up with bandages. Once he had made sure that Graznikh was stable and had checked on Kraash, he had Margzat order Ghrazagh and Lîrnash to keep an eye on them both in case they became delirious, feverish or woke up and tried to kill each other again. Then he headed for Záhovar's room.  
  
  
Záhovar remained standing long after Graznikh left. She felt strange, as though there was a lump in her chest, as if she should be feeling _something_ but did not. _But why? Why should I be feeling anything at all?_  
She had tried to manipulate and use him like she used Sulmurz, she had wanted to... but the scent and his nearness made her _remember,_ little glimmers of moments long lost and gone. _Hravanya..._ But in the end her temper had flared so fast that she had not had time to weigh her words before she spoke.  
_Graznikh... Why must you always give me such trouble?!_  
In a corner of the room stood a handbasin and a jug filled with water. She a soaked a rag after filling it and used it to wipe the leavings off, and was still squatting beside it as Praktash entered. He nodded in greeting and went over to the basin without a word; Záhovar noticed that his hands were bloody. After washing them, he leaned against the wall and looked at her. ”What the fuck happened here?”  
”If you are referring to-”  
”I'm referrin' to the fact that Graznikh goes in here, then when he comes back out he goes berserk an' attacks Kraash who knifes him an' tries to slice his guts open!”  
Záhovar froze. ”Kraash tried to kill my snaga?!”  
”Kraash tried to kill _Graznikh,_ ” Praktash snarled. ”Not your snaga; _Graznikh!_ He's got a name! Or is he just one snaga 'mong a hundred others to ya now?!”  
”Of course not,” she replied icily as she rose.  
”Then tell me what happened in here! He doesn't become that way outta the blue!”  
”He tried to buy me!” Záhovar hissed.  
Praktash frowned in confusion. ”What?”  
”He comes in with _this,_ ” she went over to the bed and held the little metal jar up, ”and wants me to buy it with a kiss! And after taking far more than that, he says 'I needed that, tokens well spent', as if I was some whore he had just used! And then he expects me to be grateful for it!”  
Praktash had watched her outburst with wide eyes, and as she fell silent he buried his face in his hands with a low howl that ended in a chuckle. ”I'm goin' crazy,” he whined. ”You two're the most unbelievably daft fuckers I've ever encountered!” He looked up at hearing Záhovar's reverberating hiss. ”Nar, don't go hissy-fit on _me_ now! I'm just tellin' it like I see it.”  
”Your observations do little to repair this!”  
”I know!!” he shouted. ”At times it seems you prefer havin' it this way!” Then he sighed. ”Y'know what? I'm sick of this shit. We'll leave this for now; I'll convince Graz not to leg it back to Lugburz the moment he's healed an' you pull yourself together a little. Take a bath, drink... _Eat,_ for fuck's sake! I'll toss Sully in here to fix your hair an' rub your back or whatever if i'll make ya feel better. An' after that dinner, the three of us're gonna sit down, yell things through an' I'm not lettin' either of ya outta this room 'til you're done. Got it?”  
Záhovar sighed and obediently turned towards the tray.  
  
When Graznikh finally came to, he insisted on leaving the guestwing.  
”You actually gonna fight me on this?” he growled as Praktash blocked his path.  
”I didn't patch ya up just so you could go rip yourself open again! You can get drunk in here just fine!”  
”I'm not staying another eyeblink in this shithole! You wanna daddy me all the way to the alehouse, fine, but you're not stopping me!”  
”An' what if there's trouble on the way there? What if we get into a fight?”  
”Then we get into a bloody fight! Now fuck outta my way afore I make ya regret standing in it!”  
Praktash rolled his eyes and shook his head. ”Why me? Alright; fine. But I'm comin' along. An' if you so much as try to pick a fight, I'll knock ya over the head.”  
”Be my bloody guest... Come on.”  
Praktash and Graznikh soon found themselves in a rather run-down ale-house in the slums; it was the only place where they had been let in where the barkeeper spoke enough of the Common Tongue to understand what they ordered. Graznikh was not in the mood to talk. _How the fuck could I be so wrong? I thought she was coming around just fine, but this... Did she just play pretend? Who or what the fuck've I been playing with this whole time?!_  
”Quit flexin' like that,” Praktash told him. ”It might not heal right if you do.”  
”I don't care,” Graznikh growled sullenly while glaring at his bandaged hands.  
”You will once you find it hard to hold onto your blades.”  
Graznikh looked away with a quiet snort.  
”So you rubbed her the wrong way with that salve. It's no big deal! Give it some-”  
”No big deal?” Graznikh snarled. ”I'd say it's a bloody huge deal! I thought I saw a little something of the _real_ her shining through, finally, after all this time! I thought that trinket would mean something to her! And then she goes and does something like this! She bloody told me to keep it and go packing!!”  
Praktash shook his head. ”That's not what she's pissed about. If you had gone an' burped up a comment like that while we were snugglin' after a good fuck, I woulda punched ya too!”  
”What comment?”  
”Oh shit... Buddy, you bloody near called her a whore an' an opa-snaga!”  
”What?! Nar, I didn't!”  
”Alright; this is what she told me you said, an' I'm repeatin' it like she said it; 'I really needed that, tokens well spent'. What the fuck did you mean by that, if not that you just bought a fuck from her?”  
”She was the one who started bargaining!”  
”Yeah, for a kiss! The rest was not a part of the deal as far as I know. Y'know she doesn't play like that.”  
Graznikh looked away with a sour expression. Then he fell forward and buried his head in his arms on the table with an upset little sound. Praktash followed him down, but only leaned his chin on his arms while watching him with a grin.  
”What was that, buddy?”  
Graznikh lifted his head a little. ”I said; I'm such a fucking idiot!”  
”There we go, now you're talkin'!”  
”What'm I gonna do?”  
Praktash snickered. ”You can be a shit-tongued little bastard at times. I know it; she knows it. Give her some room an' time, then crawl back an' beg her forgiveness. Y'know she'll give in eventually; no one can resist a sweet-tongued rascal like you.”  
Graznikh gave him a mirthless grin. ”What'll it be, shit-tongued bastard or sweet-tongued rascal?”  
”Who said ya can't be both?”  
He shook his head. ”If I told ya something like that, would you get so pissed you tried to kill me?”  
Praktash frowned. ”What brought that up now?”  
”That's what she did. Choked me through the collar 'til I bloody near saw the other side. She let go just before I winked out.”  
Praktash sat quiet for a long while. _She can do that? Through the collars?_ ”That's what made ya run like that?”  
Graznikh nodded listlessly. ”Didn't wanna be around you guys in case I berserked.”  
”Fuck...”  
”Be careful, buddy,” Graznikh said quietly. ”I don't know if she's snapped for real or not but... Don't piss her off. It could end either way.”  
”Kraash really fucked her up, didn't he?”  
Graznikh shrugged. ”She was off already before that.”  
”But...” Praktash frowned, deep in thought. ”He joined in Morigost, an' that's where she started actin' weird. It's only gotten worse from there; maybe him jumpin' her was the last drop? Hîsht went crazy too, what's to say he didn't get the same treatment?”  
Graznikh buried his face in his hands. ”I don't need more crazy! She was a handful already back in Lugburz!”  
  
”There ya are.”  
Praktash groaned as Sulmurz sauntered up to them. ”Not _you!_ ”  
”Well fuck off then,” Sulmurz grunted as he sat down beside Graznikh, who was still resting his head in his hands. ”So who's breaking?”  
”That's none o' your business!”  
”I don't think that's yer call, Uruk.”  
”I said: it's none. Of. Your. Fuckin'. Business!”  
Graznikh glanced at Sulmurz. ”If you knew someone was going down a line you knew was gonna change that someone for the worse'n probably ruin your life in the process, what'd ya do?”  
”If that 'someone's a High Officer, I don't see that there's anythin' I _could_ do,” Sulmurz replied.  
”An' you wonder why I keep tellin' him to piss off?” Praktash asked. ”He's just gonna make shit worse!”  
”An' what the fuck're ya plannin' that I'd ruin so badly?” Sulmurz snarled. ”Ya gonna go behind her back?”  
”Will you keep your- Gahh, why do I even try?” Praktash exclaimed. ”Let's just kill her an' be done with it!”  
” _What?!”_ Sulmurz squeaked and nearly toppled the table as he shot up.  
”No one's gonna kill anyone,” Graznikh growled. ”Now shut up'n sit down!”  
Sulmurz threw the snickering Praktash a hostile look while Graznikh pulled him back down on the bench.  
”Don't you have stuff to do?” Praktash asked once he was done laughing.  
”Nar,” Sulmurz muttered. ”Thanks to that bigmouthed goat fucker Kraash I've been spendin' every waking moment starin' at a piece o' paper. I'mma go crosseyed if this keeps up.”  
”That'd improve your looks, for sure,”  
Sulmurz snorted. ”Since when did a face like yours care for looks?”  
”Oh Sully, don'tcha know? I'm _all_ about looks.”  
”Should I be flattered or bloody insulted that you're lumpin' me together with the wannabe oliphaunt?”  
Praktash's face went blank and Graznikh stopped sulking to give Sulmurz a puzzled glance. ”The _what?_ ”  
”Oliphaunt,” Sulmurz repeated. ”'S an animal, or I think it is. Grey, huge as I dunno what-”  
”A wagon?” Graznikh suggested.  
”A house?” Praktash tried.  
”Try the outer gate o' this bloody city,” Sulmurz said. ”Could probably peek in over the wall if it wanted to.”  
”So how's that anythin' like 'Zat?”  
”Well, oliphaunts got this huge tentacle in their faces, 'n-”  
”Tentacle?” Praktash began to look concerned for some reason.  
”Look; it's easier to just show ya,” Sulmurz snarled. He used his claw to carve a crude image of a great, lumbering beast into the table, complete with thick legs, strange floppy ears, some kind of horns around its mouth and an odd, snake-like appendage just above it. ”There; that's an oliphaunt.”  
”And how drunk were you when you saw a beast like that?” Graznikh wondered out loud.  
”Wasn't drunk,” Sulmurz snarled. ”Me'n my band were gonna ambush a trader, down east o' Khand. Turned out it was a bloody war party from way down south. They had one o' these with 'em.”  
”Hold on; they _tame_ those monsters?” Graznikh asked.  
”Oh, drop it!” Praktash exclaimed. ”He'd probably been snackin' on 'shrooms for a week. 'Sides, I still don't get what this has got to do with 'Zat.”  
Sulmurz let out an exasperated sigh. ”Do I hafta spell this out?” He pointed at the oliphaunt. ”Big dangly trunk?”  
Praktash's eyes widened. ”...Oh. _Oooh._ ” Then he began to purr. ”Oh _Sully,_ ” he groaned while rolling his hips suggestively. ”Now you're just bein' cute with me! But I think I prefer 'batterin' ram'. There's nothin' dangly 'bout 'Zat when I'm around.” Sulmurz shuddered as Praktash undressed him with his eyes. ”Are _you..._ dangly?”  
”Limp as a boned fish,” Sulmurz blurted out and edged away at Praktash's husky chuckle.  
”I'm sure I could get you hard,” Praktash purred. ”Whether you want it or not...”  
”This isn't a bloody competition!” Sulmurz retorted.  
”It is now!”  
”You're broken beyond repair, buddy,” Graznikh snickered.  
Praktash shot him a happy grin. ”Say, Sully? While I remember; Záhovar asked for ya earlier. Something 'bout a bath or some such thing.”  
”Then, uh, then I guess I should go,” Sulmurz replied while throwing panicky glances at the Uruk's leering face. ”Guess that drink'll hafta wait until later, right?”  
”Tell you what?” Praktash chirped. ”If you make it to the gate, she's yours for the rest of the night. If not, I'll check how limp you _really_ are first. Deal?”  
Sulmurz froze, searching for whatever words would get him out of the situation the fastest. ”Which gate?”  
”Too late,” Praktash whispered. He got up at a leisurely pace and reached for the lacing on Sulmurz's trousers. Sulmurz shot up and jumped backwards, toppling the bench in the process. Graznikh roared in pain as he landed hard on the side where Kraash had stabbed him, but the chase was on and neither Sulmurz nor Praktash cared about his misery.  
  
Praktash chased Sulmurz to the end of the street and made sure that he was running hard for the palace before turning back with a chuckle. Back in the alehouse, Graznikh was still lying on his back on the floor, groaning quietly.  
”Kill me now,” he whimpered as Praktash helped him up.  
”None of that now,” Praktash said cheerfully. ”See? You're already feelin' better.”  
”If this is better I don't wanna _be_ better.” He gave his spilled booze a sad, disappointed look. ”Aww, lookit the poor widdle puppy,” Praktash cooed. ”Don'tcha worry, Praktash'll make ya feel _muuuch_ better.” He sat down behind him and leaned his back against the wall, pulling Graznikh back until he was resting against his chest. The mugs had spilled when Sulmurz bolted but the jug hadn't; now Praktash took it and held it to Graznikh's lips. The ale was not to Graznikh's taste, but strong enough to get them both pleasantly drunk without having to down too much of the foul-tasting brew. Soon Praktash's teeth were playing with his ear and neck, eliciting little purrs and gasps.  
”Buddy, I'm fucking stitched back in pieces here,” Graznikh protested. ”If I try to fuck, I'mma fall apart all over again!”  
”Don'tcha worry,” Praktash laughed. ”I'm not gonna have all my hard work gone to waste just for a rut!”  
”This whole trip's a mess... My hair's gonna be as gray as my skin before we get back. _If_ we get back.”  
”Don't go all gloomy on me now, buddy.”  
”Got every bloody reason to be!”  
”I know ya do. But you gotta keep it together, at least 'til after that dinner. Then you can crash all over again.”  
”Can I?”  
”Nope. I scheduled ya both for peacemakin'.”  
”Fuck my life..!”  
”None o' that now.”  
”Got s'more o' that painkiller? I could use it if I'm gonna stand up all evening.”  
”Don'tcha worry, Praktash'll sort ya out!”  
  
  
The following day was used to prepare. Sulmurz and the snufflers cleaned Záhovar's clothes and polished her armour while Praktash saw to Graznikh's gear. He recieved a few mocking comments about it from the other Uruks but brushed them off; right now he was Lug-snaga first and foremost and Graznikh needed rest, not more work. He gave his own gear a lookover as well while he was at it, not because it needed it but because it felt good to have his hands full. Praktash was nervous; Graznikh was in no condition to be up and moving and especially not fight if it came to that, but he refused to hear about being replaced.  
”I'm her bodyguard,” he had growled when Praktash had brought it up. ”What bloody use am I if I can't do my job?!”  
Záhovar had refrained from commenting, or perhaps she did not care. She had come out briefly to ask Graznikh how he felt and if he thought himself capable, only to retreat back to the bedroom without a word as soon as he had answered. Seeing the look in his buddy's eyes as she left had almost made Praktash cry.  
After breakfast and equipment care, Margzat sent his uzhâk upstairs for exercise.  
”I'm thinkin' ya could use some too, Bukrazikh,” he told Praktash.  
”I got stuff to do here,” Praktash replied. ”'Sides, didn'tcha say the other night that my arse was fine the way it is?”  
”Aye, it is,” he chuckled. ”But ye're more than yer arse, aren'tcha? Go get yuh some, Bukrazikh. I'll hold down the fort here.”  
Praktash gave him an insolent glance, but something in Margzat's eyes made him change his mind. He left after giving Graznikh a pat on the shoulder. Margzat waited until he was out of earshot before turning to Graznikh.  
”You were bloody quick to get him outta the way,” Graznikh commented without taking his eyes off the fire. Margzat did not reply and Graznikh tensed up as he came closer with a piece of wood in his hand, thinking that he was about to attack him. But the giant Uruk only squatted beside him, leaning on the knuckles of his free hand as he threw the wood into the fire.  
”I'm thinkin' it's not my place to say this,” he rumbled after a moment's silence, ”but I'm thinkin' ya should stay behind.”  
”You're right,” Graznikh curtly replied. ”It's not your place to say.”  
”Ye're not exactly fit for fight, as it were.”  
”Don'tcha think I fucking know that?! But I got my post; I'm no bloody use in here.”  
”Ye're no use dead either,” Margzat commented. ”An' I'd hate to see what 'at'd do with Praktash. Ya fight in the state ye're in, ye're not gonna survive it. An' I'm thinkin' ya wouldn't win it either. Ye're no use if ya can't protect her, an' ya can't. Face it, Lug-snaga.”  
”Fuck it, krîtar!” Graznikh snarled back. He returned to staring angrily into the fire for a while before he added; ”I'm not letting Sulmurz take my place.”  
Margzat chuckled. ”I'm thinkin' the little snaga couldn't fill 'at spot even if he tried. Doesn't have the backbone or the guts for it.” There was a flash of dark red as he glanced at him. ”But what about Bukrazikh?”  
Graznikh winced as he tried to shift and his waist stabbed with pain. ”I thought the mîgatar was too important for that?”  
”Aye, he's a good flesh-knitter. Saw him work on ya; never seen anythin' like it. But he's good with 'at mace too. Smart too; I'm thinkin' he could fill the spot. It'd give ya some time to... Hnh.” He shrugged and nodded out towards the garden; Záhovar had disappeared in that direction some time ago.  
Graznikh nodded slowly. As much as he hated it, he knew that Margzat was right. It was just so very, very hard to admit that once again, he had to step back and was unable to prove his worth to the only one he cared to show off for.  
”When I got sent to the Trench, I thought I was done for,” Margzat rumbled quietly after a moment. ”'At's it', I thought. 'They've had enough o' me an' sent me to the one place I won't ever get outta'. I thought 'at was the end o' the line. Thought so for years, an' it wasn't 'cause o 'the jokes.” He shot Graznikh a grin as the Lug-snaga began to laugh only to whimper as another stab in his waist shut him up.  
”You're not there anymore,” Graznikh commented once the pain subsided.  
”Nar,” Margzat replied. ”The more I thought o' it, the more pissed I got. 'No worth?' I thought. 'They think I'll just lie down an' die here? Karkatul, I'll show 'em!' So I started crackin' some skulls, shape the rabble up. They sent me the worst o' the worst, every time I thought there wasn't a lousier soldier Blog Shakâmb proved me wrong.” He chuckled and shook his head. ”Another Captain might've been worn down. Had enough o' it and jumped into the pits. Eye knows I had those moments too. But then I just got pissed at myself for thinkin' 'at way, an' the more pissed I got the harder I worked. Ya came by at the end o' it all; those lads were by no means the better kind, not even close to decent, but they made progress. First they had in years, an' Lugburz took note.”  
Graznikh had listened in silence but met the krîtar's eyes as he glanced in his direction.  
”I'm thinkin' they've taken note o' ya, too. Ya wouldn't be here if they hadn't. An' you've got ways to go yet, mark my words. I'm not sayin' this trip won't kill ya; it might. But chasin' 'at death afore it's found ya won't do ya any good; it comes when it comes. An' if it doesn't, you've got ways to go. There's a lot'a worse places to be than here, Lug-snaga. An' she'll take note too. She'd be stupid not to.”  
  
He stood and stretched before leaving. Graznikh could hear him bark at the 'lads' to up their game if they didn't want to eat their dinner lying on their bellies. After a while, Praktash came in, snickering so hard he could barely walk.  
”Well, aren't you a bright ray o' moonlight,” Graznikh told him.  
”He...” Praktash tried but had to stop to catch his breath. ”He put Lîrnash over his knee... spanked his arse so hard he couldn't walk after!” Graznikh grinned as he started laughing again. ”You shoulda seen his fuckin' face! He squealed like a pig!”  
”Never mess with the Captain o' the Trench,” Graznikh said and took a swig from his drinking skin. ”He'll send ya _crackin'_.” It was impossible to stay angry with Praktash around. ”Say... Buddy?”  
”Yeah?” Praktash breathlessly replied once he stopped laughing. ”What is it?”  
It was difficult to say the words. ”Could you... D'ya mind if... Can you take my place? At the dinner..?”  
Praktash, Eye bless his sense, did not comment on the sudden change of mind. ”Sure... Sure I can. How's the cut?”  
”Worse,” Graznikh grunted. ”I think you need to up the dose.”  
”Alright. But not too much; it's no good, takin' too much of those. Might make ya need more an' more until all's not enough.”  
Graznikh nodded.  
After brewing a stronger batch of painkiller, Praktash sought out Margzat. He had just finished sparring with Urkhish and was squatting by the pond, splashing water on his upper body to cool off. Praktash watched the glittering drops trickle down his back, tracing the swelling muscles before pooling where the belt that held his loincloth and chaps sat tight around his hips.  
Margzat had obviously heard him approach and glanced at him with a 'come-hither' leer that made Praktash's knees go weak. ”Whaddya want, Bukrazikh?”  
For a moment Praktash could not reply; his voice had been stolen by those dark red eyes and that snaking, black tongue. ”I've got somethin' to ask ya,” he said huskily once it returned. Holding the krîtar's gaze, he swaggered by him and beckoned for him to follow. Margzat obeyed and they went into one of the smaller rooms. Once inside, Praktash turned and placed both hands on his chest, pushing him up against the wall.  
”What did you do?”  
”With Graznikh, ya mean?” Praktash nodded and Margzat grinned a little. ”Just upped his spirit a li'l. He's no Uruk, but I'm thinkin' he woulda been one if he'd come outta the pits in Lugburz or Blog Shakâmb. He's a soldier, an' he's got the smarts not to go rogue at first sign o' trouble. Thinkin' his master let him off duty 'cause he's broken won't do no good. So I told him a li'l story 'bout when I got into the same pinch, gave him a reason to fight another night.” His eyes narrowed. ”'S 'at a bad thing?”  
”You,” Praktash purred, ”are a bloody marvel!”  
Margzat chuckled. ”I'm thinkin' 'at's the first time I've been called 'at...”  
”And you're gonna get a present!”  
”Oho..? Is it wrapped in red an' green?”  
”In a way. It's the present.”  
Margzat frowned. ”What?” Then his eyes widened as Praktash began to sink into a squat.  
”I'm gonna make ya stay in the present,” Praktash whispered with a husky leer, ”longer than you ever thought you could..!” He savoured the look in his krîtar's eyes as he untied his loincloth, and Margzat braced himself against the wall.

  
Much later, Praktash came out of the room licking his fingers and went in search of Záhovar. Margzat took a bit longer before he stumbled out looking dazed, as if he had taken a hit to the head.  
”He's gon' be the death o' me,” he muttered with a sheepish grin as he slumped down on a pillow. ”Really; he could kill with 'at mouth o' his.” Then he fell back with a happy sigh.  
Meanwhile, Praktash found Záhovar in the upstairs audience room. She was watching the ruined couch with an unreadable expression and started a little as she heard him approach.  
”How long til we leave?” he asked.  
”Not long now. Will he make it?”  
Praktash shook his head. ”I'm comin' with ya in his stead.”  
Záhovar gave him a look. ”He seemed adamant before. What made him change his mind?”  
”Combined efforts.” He frowned as she pursed her lips. ”You gonna force him to go? Y'know he shouldn't be up an' runnin'. You wanna lose him like this?”  
”I suppose not... But why you? That mace of yours is hardly a close combat weapon.”  
”Nor is your glaive. An' who says I dunno how to use knives? Graz taught me good, I just haven't had much chance to use 'em. 'Sides...” He glanced back towards the door. ”I wouldn't pick Sully at this point. I really, _really_ wouldn't.”  
”If you insist,” Záhovar said eventually. She arched an eyebrow as Praktash let out a sigh of relief. Then she cocked her head. ”Since you will take his place... Let us see if there is anything that fits.”  
Praktash gave her a confused look. ”Fits?”  
Záhovar did not reply, and he followed her with growing concern. In a nearby room that he had not previously explored, the walls were lined with doors. Záhovar opened one; it turned out to be full of clothes.  
Praktash's heart sank. ”Do I have to?!”  
”Need I remind you that you volunteered for this?” Záhovar asked as she searched. ”It is you or Sulmurz. Should I send for him instead? Good,” she added when Praktash meekly shook his head. ”Here; try this one.”  
  
Finding clothes that fit the broad-shouldered Uruk was not easy, but it was easier than it would have been to dress an Orc. With their longer arms and shorter legs, most clothes intended for Men would fit them awkwardly at best, and Záhovar had not looked forward to convincing Graznikh of the necessity of dressing up. Praktash was far more Man-like in stature, so finding fitting clothes for him was far easier. Soon he was staring at his own traditionally Rhûnish-dressed mirror image. It was reminiscent of what Nev-Alisher had worn; an ankle-long, narrow upper garment, slightly darker than his hair, with hip-high slits up each side and that closed at the side of the neck and under the arm with polished steel buttons, sparsely embroidered with the Great Eye design on the chest and with tight sleeves and a high collar of a slightly darker tint. His Lug-snaga collar stood out against the red, showing his rank as a High Officer's personal servant. Underneath he wore charcoal trousers slightly darker than his skin, loose but not hard to move in; a braided leather belt with a matching dagger sheath and a short cape in the same colour as the trousers topped the outfit off.  
The more Praktash looked, the more he found that to his horror, he actually looked _good._ The colours accentuated his hair and piercings and made his eyes stand out even more than usual. The fabric was surprisingly soft, light and easy to move in, hugging his body in all the right places while still leaving enough to imagination. Despite being fully covered, he almost felt naked.  
”You look good,” Záhovar said behind him. ”How do you feel?”  
”Good,” he absently replied as he placed the dagger in the sheath and turned around. ”An' you look... Wow.”  
He paused to stare. Záhovar had changed clothes while he was busy looking at himself; she was still wearing her breastplate, gauntlets and greaves, but had changed the clothes underneath to an outfit similar to his own but far more elaborate. Her midnight blue robe had double sleeves where the outer ones opened at the elbow and reached almost to her knees, dotted with an intricate pattern of tiny silver studs. The same pattern was repeated near the lower hem of the robe, and the trousers and inner sleeves of the robe were a pale blue that matched her icy eyes. The three-pointed circlet that was the High Officers' insignia topped it all off.  
”Now _that's_ a look fit for royalty,” Praktash concluded with a grin.  
Záhovar smirked. ”As far as these Men are concerned, I _am_ royalty. And where did you learn that word?”  
”A book,” he grinned.  
”Of course... Perhaps you will be the first learned Uruk?”  
”Nar, they're only fun as long as there are pictures.”  
”Or mysteries,” she added teasingly.  
”Or that,” Praktash admitted.

After taking a turn past the mirror to make sure that all was in order, Záhovar put the little black daggers back into the hidden sheaths that Graznikh had built into her armour. ”Come then; onward to mystery!” She began to walk towards the door, but stopped in the door when Praktash did not follow. ”What is wrong?”  
”Could... Could you maybe make sure the others are elsewhere before I go out there?” Praktash asked with an embarrassed scowl. ”Their teasin's bad enough already, an' I don't wanna-”  
”Well, don'tcha look just _scrumptious!_ ” Margzat leered as he peeked out from behind the doorpost.  
”Now that's a dress I'd happily tear off ya,” Graznikh purred. ”Piece... by... piece...”  
Praktash blushed furiously as they undressed him with their eyes. ”What're you up an' runnin' for?! Go bad to bed!”  
”Only if you'll come with me! Tasty little thing...”  
”Yeah, you keep that up!” Praktash retorted while trying to regain his composure. ”There's no way you'd pull this one off; none o' ya will ever be as fabulous as me!” He did a little turn, robes fluttering, that was abruptly stopped as Margzat caught him from behind and groped him mercilessly. Praktash squeaked at him to take his paws off the fabulous and Margzat let him go with a horny purr after licking his ear. Praktash walked stiffly through the gauntlet outside, barraged by similar lewd remarks and slavering leers from the others. Záhovar received her fair share as well from both Sulmurz and Graznikh, who had decided to push his anger aside in honour of the occasion. She noted an eager glance or two from the Uruks, but whatever thoughts they had they were wise enough to keep to themselves.  
Once the door to the guest wing closed behind him, Praktash collapsed against the wall with a whimper.  
”I think I've found a problem with these clothes,” he said in a shaky voice.  
”Oh?” Záhovar replied innocently. ”And what would that be?”  
”There's no fuckin' way they'll keep my hardon from showin'!”  
”So soon?”  
”Whaddya mean 'so soon'? It's not like 'Zat returned the favour before I went to get ya! 'Sides, if he had you woulda heard it.” He chuckled and pulled his robe straight. ”Y'know, I think this is gonna be fun. I bloody _hope_ Alice is there! He's gonna be so deliciously awkward I'mma turn into a puddle.”  
”As long as you do not forsake your duties,” Záhovar reminded him as they walked. ”This will not be all fun and games.”  
”'Course not! Can't abandon my Kafsokhôr, now can I?”  
”Do not call me that when we reach the mansion; Black Speech is the official tongue of the priesthood and many of the nobility speak it as well; I would not have them imagine things.”  
”'Imagine', is it?” Praktash grinned.  
”You know full well how the rumours that Dachman spread were recieved. Many of those High Officers were born and raised in Rhûn. Men in general seem obsessed with what others do with their genitals, and Rhûn tops the list. They have a very narrow idea of what constitutes 'proper conduct' in bed, and know nothing of Orcs and their... conduct.”  
”Got it,” Praktash replied. ”I'll behave. Though there is _one_ Rhûnlander who knows my 'conduct' already.” Then he grinned. "When I said I wanted us to go out, I had no idea you'd take me to a Top Ones' party! This is gonna be so much _fun!_ "  
”Master, watch over us,” Záhovar murmured with deep conviction.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gurb-ashî – my only one  
> Tailurz – playful  
> Karkû-vrâstaturz bagshatîgatok – something along the lines of 'cock-assassinating shitpacking-receiver'.  
> Mîgatar – healer  
> Karkatul – fuck them


	21. A Night To Remember

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wohoo, new year and writer's block over! Two chapters at the same time to make up for the absense. There are also a mini-series of Praktash flirting with/being a general arse to Sulmurz on the Tumblr.

Despite its name, temples were not the only buildings in the temple district. On the terraces trailing the eastern side of the palace hill lay the mansions of the wealthy and powerful families, not only the members of the khagan and the high-ranking priests but also the old nobility and a few wealthy merchant lords. Unlike the citizens' district below, there was a distinct lack of alleys and back-streets here; everything was meticulously planned out with little plazas, lush parks and wide, cobbled avenues that followed the outline of the hill.

The sun had just set and the deepening sky was clear and dotted with stars, but in the west clouds billowed up towards the heavens; the first sign of a gathering storm. A light breeze slowly picked up. Praktash felt vulnerable and exposed without his armour and he made sure to stay near Záhovar as they walked through the empty streets. _Some bodyguard I am, scared of my own shadow..._  
Before they entered a crossing street, he asked Záhovar to stop. ”So what am I to do durin' this party? Just stick to your side an' keep my mouth shut the whole time?”   
Záhovar thought for a moment before she replied. ”If this... Man you met before appears, you have my permission to make him talk. But do not cause a scene. No dancing on the table or fucking behind the curtains.”  
Praktash snorted. ”What about fuckin' on the table? Just jokin'!” he quickly added and raised his hands in defense when Záhovar arched an eyebrow at him.  
”One cannot be too certain when it comes to you,” she replied with a smirk.  
”Y'know you like it... So nothin' else? No weird customs or anythin'?”  
”I do not know whether they will serve food to the servants... And current fashion bans the consumption of meat.”  
Praktash frowned. ”They don't eat meat? Why not?”  
”Apparently they consider Men above beasts, and consuming the flesh of lesser beings brings them down to their level.”  
”But... That's ridiculous! The whole point of bein' on top is that you get to kill an' eat those below if you wanna! Or do whatever else you feel like to them. Is this why there was no meat in that first crate we got?”  
”Yes. But try not to comment on it. Your words and actions will reflect on me and I do not wish to offend anyone unless it is necessary.”  
”How do I know if it's necessary?”  
”If they attack you physically or insult my person or the Eye. No doubt some will try to insult you, but you must not respond to that; it will no doubt be one of those distractions you mentioned the other night.”  
Praktash nodded. ”Eyes at your back... Got it.”  
”Good. Now let us-”  
”An' don't worry; if anyone so much as looks at ya wrong, I'll mouth-maul 'em so bad they'll run home cryin'.”  
Záhovar pinched the bridge of her nose. ”Perhaps I should have gone alone...”  
”I'm just messin' with ya, Kafsokhôr,” Praktash reassured her while choking back laughter. ”C'mon; let's get this party started!”

  
From the outside, most of the mansions seemed to be smaller replicas of the palace guestwing, complete with walled gardens and houses on the upper terraces overlooking the cirty below. Hanikh's mansion was no exception. After announcing their arrival to the armoured guard at the gate, Záhovar strode into the garden with Praktash in tow. The trees were decorated with paper lanterns and a small silk pavilion near the left stairs covered a long table laden with various appetizers and drinks. A small horde of slaves served the guests, refilled the table and made sure the lanterns were lit. The garden itself was far more lavish than that in the palace; clematis vines climbed the pillars, the obligatory pond sported a fountain of carved malachite and there were statues of strange animals, carved out of solid moonstone that shimmered in the light of the lanterns, scattered among the flowering magnolia trees. At a closer look, the animals they depicted seemed unreal; the body similar to the slim, long-eared hunting dogs that the Wainriders favoured but with the legs of a gazelle and the head of a swan. Záhovar counted sixteen of the statues, each slightly different from the rest, as if they were all one and the same creature caught in stone in the middle of a graceful dance.   
There were entertainers as well; on a low, carpet-covered platform, two near naked acrobats bent and twisted into seemingly impossible poses that made their audience gasp. In another corner of the garden, near the pond, a trio of musicians filled the air with sounds such as neither Praktash nor Záhovar had heard before.  
”What the fuck _is_ that?” Praktash whispered while staring at the musicians.  
”It is music,” Záhovar whispered back. ”Similar to singing, only instead of using their voices they let the instruments 'sing' in their stead.”  
  
Each player had a different instrument. One had two small drums of slightly different shape; two held different kinds of stringed instruments with bowl-shaped bodies and numerous thin strings along their long necks, and the fourth played on what looked like two large metal bowls that had been welded together along the rim. The upper bowl had several symmetrical dents in it and made a deep, bell-like sound as the musician struck them.  
Praktash studied the musicians intently as they performed and tried to figure out how the strange contraptions worked, but after a while he closed his eyes and followed the rhythm with his ears instead. It was deeper than simply listening to a sound; he could feel the music in his chest. The slow pulse of the percussions and the strange, flowing staccato of the strings wove into a hypnotic melody that made him feel drugged, but in a good way.  
”Lug-snaga,” Záhovar murmured admonishingly. ”No dancing.”  
”Huh?” Praktash opened his eyes and found her smirking at him. ”What's 'dancin'?”  
”Moving in unison with the rhythm of music.”  
”These folks think that's bad?”  
”No, but there are unwritten rules for how and when to do so. This is a dinner, not a dance gathering.”  
”Well, what's the point of havin' rules if you can't break 'em every once in a while?” he replied with a mischievous little leer, but then he noticed the concerned and disdainful expressions of those who had undoubtedly been eavesdropping on their conversation. ”Alright, I'll be good.”  
Záhovar nodded. ”Behave, Lug-snaga.”  
”Yes, master...”  
  
Záhovar was not alone in having brought a servant; most of the guests had at least one slave trailing them as they mingled. She recognised several members of the khagan, but thankfully Duerrin was absent. _Or perhaps he has yet to arrive._ There were also a few high-ranking priests in formal robes present, and not only from the Temple of the One. The Temple of the Nine, the Cult of Shadow and the Nightblade Priory were also represented, along with one she did not recognise. Facial coverings were a telltale sign of the priesthood; the cultists of Shadow wore black silk mesh that completely covered their faces while being thin enough to see through; the clerics of the Nine favoured black masks with inlays in silver depicting the Moon in nine shapes and the all-female monks of the Nightblade Priory barely covered their faces at all, wearing veils of thin chains in some dark, bluish metal that attached to an intricate collar around their necks.  
Heads turned and conversations stopped as she climbed the stairs to the upper terrace where the higher-ranking guests had gathered. At first she hesitated; she had not stood before such a crowd since her elevation. But Praktash stopped behind her, just close enough to touch, and brushed his fingers against the small of her back; it was enough to give her the courage needed. She strode forward and the crowd parted with bows and curtsies.  
”My Ladyship,” a soft voice said. Záhovar turned her head to see who had spoken; two of the cultists of Shadow stepped forward and fell to their knees, black-gloved hands held out, palms up, in supplication. ”We are awed and honoured by your presence, you who walk through the deepest Shadow such as we cannot even imagine!”  
The garden was so well-lit that Záhovar had a hard time finding any shadows to use, but the heavy foliage of one of the nearby bushes proved enough; a tiny wisp of Darkness stretched across the ground towards her and formed a misty link between her outstretched fingers and those of the cultists.  
”And yet you strode forward with proper humility,” she replied. ”You have been Seen, and not found wanting.” The cultists trembled as they stood and backed away, repeatedly bowing and thanking her. The crowd seemed to take that as a signal; the next moment she and Praktash were surrounded by greeters and well-wishers.  
  
  
Graznikh glared at the door for a while after Záhovar and Praktash left. Then he deflated a little and limped back down to the master bedroom, where he slumped down on the pillows near the fire with a quiet wince.  
”Wanna play stones?” Sulmurz asked.  
”He can't,” Kraash sneered from the other side of the room. ”He doesn't have any.” Despite his broken arm and cracked cheekbone, Kraash was in an obnoxiously good mood and it was grating on Graznikh's already bowstring-tense nerves. He wanted nothing more than to run him through or out of the room but couldn't because of his injuries, and asking Margzat was more shame than he could stomach at the moment. _What use am I if I can't hold my own against a fucking cub? I thought Ghakû was to keep him in check?_ He refrained from giving the old Orc a baleful glance. Ghakû was shifty and lately Graznikh didn't know where he had him. He seemed to stay out of the thick of things, but was he really as mellow as he pretended? What _did_ Ghakû want?  
”Will ya shaddap?” Sulmurz told Kraash. ”Yer mouth's done enough already!”  
”I don't need to use my mouth to do shit!”  
”Then don't!”  
”Why're ya picking on me for? He started it!”  
”Shut it!” Margzat commanded.  
”I don't take orders from Uruk boot-lickers,” Kraash snarled without thinking. Margzat's eyes widened ever so slightly and he straightened up, but Kraash did not notice. ”If that tark-blood-eyed Elf-fucker can't handle a simple question without losin' his shit all over the place, then what the fuck'm I to do? Just stand there and take the punches? You're all idiots if you think that!”  
”If I wasn't sliced up already, I'd make ya eat those words!” Graznikh roared, but the focus for his hate only sneered. Graznikh began to get up and Kraash lit up even more, but halfway up he was halted by the krîtar's large fist landing on his shoulder and shoving him back down.  
”I'll do it,” Margzat rumbled quietly. Then everything happened fast.  
Kraash's sneer disappeared as the giant Uruk suddenly towered over him. ”She said she'd deal with me when she got back! She's not back yet, izz'she?”  
”Aye, she'll deal with ya,” Margzat growled. ”But she said nothin' 'bout not disciplinin' ya if ya acted outta line!”  
Kraash tried to bolt but Margzat was too fast. He caught him by the neck of his shirt; Kraash roared and attacked him with all that he had, but the krîtar did not even flinch as the Orc's claws dug into his bicep. He grabbed Kraash's broken arm in both hands with a calm expression that belied his anger and slowly began to twist it back and forth, grating the broken bone stumps against each other. Graznikh reclined with a most pleased leer as his challenger's screams echoed in the chamber. Margzat stopped far too soon for his taste.  
”Now you'll listen,” the krîtar growled. Kraash was panting and whimpering; tears of pain slid down his cheeks and mingled with the sweat; from the looks of it, he had pissed himself.  
”Listen!” Margzat snapped and tugged on his arm; Kraash let out a yowl and obeyed, but his eyes were full of hate. Margzat was not satisfied and a few more tugs followed.  
”I'm listening!! I'm listening!!” Kraash howled.  
”Are ya now?” Kraash nodded frantically and Margzat leered. ”Good! Then here's how it'll be; one more jab, stab or dab at the Lug-durbatar's property; _any_ o' her property, 'll result in more o' this.” He nodded grimly at Kraash's swollen arm that he was still holding onto so tightly that no blood could pass his fingers. ”Leave it be, an' we'll leave _you_ be. In _every_ way; I'll make sure o' that. If not...” He did not need to finish the sentence. ”We clear?”   
Kraash did not reply at once, so he squeezed his arm a little. Kraash winced and threw Ghakû a pleading look, but the old Orc only shook his head.  
”You fucked up, cub,” he grunted. ”I can't pull yer arse outta yer own shit every time.”  
”So what'll it be?” Margzat asked.  
”...Fine.” Kraash whimpered as his arm got squeezed again. ”Aye, krîtar!”  
”Ye're not high enough to use 'at title,” Margzat snarled.  
”Sorry... Master!”   
Margzat let go with a dark chuckle and Kraash fell cursing to the ground. Then he turned around and rolled his heavy shoulders with a pleased grin until they cracked. ”I'm thinkin' it's time we put 'at fire to use. What about ya, Lug-snaga?”  
”Watching all this sport made me hungry,” Graznikh agreed. ”In fact, I'd wager I could eat a horse!”  
Margzat chuckled and sent Golnauk to fetch one of the haunches. ”Horse it is, then.”  
”So the krîtar's taking requests now?” Urkhish snickered. ”That's new.”  
”Ride my cock fer a spell, then we can discuss it.”  
”Hoi!” Draumaturz called with a leer. ”Y'know what Praktash and the Trench got in common?”   
”Do I wanna know?” Ghrazagh muttered.  
”They're both wide enough to take the krîtar's cock without flinchin'!”  
”'At wasn't even funny,” Lîrnash told him.  
”I'm not so sure about that,” Graznikh drawled. ”As I recall it, the Trench did tremble quite a bit at his passing. Might've thought it a virgin, if I didn't know better.”  
Margzat shot him a dangerous leer as the Uruks began to laugh. ”If ya weren't Lug-snaga..! Nevermind. I'll tell Praktash ya said that. _Both_ o' ya.”  
Draumaturz sobered up. ”That's not fair!”  
”It's my buddy we're talking about,” Graznikh pointed out. ”You know he fancies those jokes. Oi, Sulmurz!”  
Sulmurz had been suffering the conversation in silence and jumped at being adressed. ”What, what?”  
”What, what?” Graznikh imitated with a chuckle. ”You still up for that game?”  
”Changed yer mind, did ya?” Sulmurz asked as he sat down and started digging through his game satchel.  
”Is that a fault? Don't fucking answer that, I don't wanna ruin the mood.”  
”Lookit'cha,” Ghrazagh leered. ”Such a cute couple! Bet ya scrub each others' backs in the bath, too!”  
”Or other places...” Lîrnash leered.   
”Aaand there it went,” Sulmurz muttered. ”I need some booze...”  
  
  
”Ah, there you are.” Praktash turned around to see who had spoken and nearly fainted as the blood left his face and heart. The woman behind him looked so much like a younger version of the witch that featured in his nightmares that his skin crawled and his insides twisted. Sheer willpower alone kept his legs from carrying him out the nearest window.  
”You must be Záhovar,” the woman continued, oblivious of the Uruk's mental breakdown. ”My foremother has spoken quite well of you in her letters.”  
”Indeed? Then I am honoured to make your acquaintance,” Záhovar replied. ”Though I must admit, I am not privy to her family connections.”  
The woman waved her hand dismissively. ”Oh, not to worry! I am Gîrnavêr. Or Gîr-Navêr, if you follow the Rhûnish name tradition, but my family kept the changes she made. As for the title, 'foremother' is easier to say than 'great-great-great-great-great-grandmother. Or was there two more 'great's? I can never remember.” She gave Záhovar a kind smile. ”Have you met her recently?”  
”Only briefly, before I left Lugburz.”  
”And how was her health? She has not visited Rhûn in years, I must admit I was beginning to worry about her.”  
”She seemed as well as ever, as far as I could tell.” Záhovar placed a reassuring hand on Praktash's arm to make him stop shaking. Gîrnavêr noticed it and looked up at him. Praktash's nostrils flared in response.   
”And who is this?”  
”This is my Lug-snaga, or one of them.”  
”Greetings, your Ladyship,” Praktash said stiffly.  
”Lug-snaga,” Záhovar said. She could see the panic in his eyes as he turned to her. ”You are familiar with those little kale wraps that are stuffed with herbs and goat-cheese, yes?” He nodded. ”Go and see if you find some and bring me a few if you do.” He nodded again and walked off.  
”I do believe I recognise that face,” Gîrnavêr said. ”Does the lady Gîrakûn not have a similar one?”  
”She does,” Záhovar replied, carefully weighing her words. ”But he is smaller.”  
”That's right, now that you mention it. Very polite and well-mannered, if I remember correctly. As is yours.”  
”To tell you the truth, I did not know that lady Gîrakûn had family left,” Záhovar said in an attempt to steer the conversation in another direction. ”Most of my colleagues tend to keep quiet about their relations, for... reasons.”  
”Pah, I am too old to be a target! And it is not as if we are close; we exchange letters every now and then and she visits every tenth time she comes to the city. Anyone who plans on using me as leverage against her would be wasting their time.” She cocked her head after sipping her glass. ”What of you? Do you have any family?”  
”The Dark Lord is my maker, my father and my Lord,” Záhovar replied. ”I have no other loyalties.”  
Gîrnavêr nodded slowly. ”Of course...” Then she shone up. ”Please; allow me to introduce you! Have you met the High Chaplain of the Temple of the Nine?”  
”No, I have not.” As Gîrnavêr led her away whilst chattering amiably, Záhover threw a glance in the direction Praktash had gone, but he had already disappeared out of sight.

Praktash went to the table where the appetizers were stacked, but he did not stop there. As quickly and inconspicuously as he could, he sneaked out into one of the adjoining corridors and leaned against the wall once he was out of sight.  
”It's not her,” he whispered as he hugged himself and rocked back and forth. ”It's not her, calm down, stop it, it's not her!”  
The sudden appearance of someone to his right nearly made him jump out of his own skin, but it was just one of the masked priests.   
”Oh, it's y-...” the priest began, but abruptly fell silent.  
”Um...” Praktash said. ”Bagronk. I'm lookin' for the... That way?” The priest pointed and nodded. ”Right.” The priest continued walking without a sound. As he passed, Praktash's hand shot out, caught his arm and pulled him close.  
”Told ya I'd find ya,” he whispered in Nev-Alisher's ear. ”You _suck_ at keepin' your mouth shut. D'you suck at other things too?”  
”You said you would not-”  
”That I wouldn't expose ya, yeah. _If_ you cooperate. Is he here? Or... she. It. Them. Whatever.”  
Nev-Alisher nodded. ”In the garden.”  
”Great! C'mon.” He dragged the reluctant priest to the 'bagronk'. The place turned out to be a little palace in itself, all fancy tiles and colourful curtains. After barring the door, Praktash went over to relieve himself, but not before studying the porcelain ring that surrounded the hole in the floor. ”Isn't this the stuff they use for those fancy cups you drink from? Why make a privy outta that?”  
”Why not?” Nev-Alisher replied laconically. ”It is easy to clean.”  
”Don't tell me _you_ do that!” Praktash snickered as he fumbled with the lacing on his trousers. Nev-Alisher snorted indignantly and demonstratively turned his back as they hit the floor. ”C'mon, it's not like you haven't seen it before! Prissy...” Then he cursed as the front part of the robe fell down despite his efforts to tuck it out of the way. ”How the fuck d'you take a piss in this stuff? It keeps gettin' in the way! Wanna gimme a hand?”  
”I am not _that_ desperate,” Nev-Alisher spat.  
”But Aaalice... I'll make it worth your while!”  
”Absolutely not!”  
”...Spoilsport.”  
The sound of liquid hitting porcelain filled the silence for a while.  
”So... smooth or gnarly?”  
Nev-Alisher frowned. ”What?”  
”Don't play coy! Smooth or gnarly?”  
”What are you trying to do?”  
”Small talk. Y'know; get to know each other a little better. I figure we were sorta brief with each other the last time.”  
The priest sighed. ”The sooner this is over, the better.”  
”Fine, fuck you then. Was last time crap for you too?”  
”No! No, it was... Wait, what do you mean by 'too'?”  
”Bleedin' Eye,” Praktash snickered as he shook his dick dry. He stopped when he turned around and found Nev-Alisher watching him with an utterly foreign expression. ”What?”  
”I am trying to comprehend how a person with your looks could have such an obnoxious personality.”  
Praktash shrugged. ”That's probably it; I'm not a 'person', whatever that is.”  
”Then what are you? And don't say 'Orc', for I have seen both Orcs and Uruks and you look nothing like either! What happened that made you think you should be one?”  
”Excuse the _fuck_ outta me?!” Nev-Alisher gasped as Praktash took him by the throat and backed him up against the nearest wall. ”You watch that mouth real bloody careful now, little roundear, or it might start losin' teeth! Wanna delve into my past to see where it went wrong? You fuckin' don't, 'cause it's _all_ wrong! So keep your priestly mindfucks to yourself, ya hear me?”  
Nev-Alisher nodded mutely. The moment Praktash let him go, he hurried for the door and began to fumble with the lock.  
”D'ya want me to out ya to the whole party? Nar? Then get back here, we still got work to do.”  
  
Once he obeyed, Praktash pulled him close again and wrapped an arm around his shoulders with a conspiratory leer as he lowered his voice to a whisper. ”So here's what we'll do; you'll take a tray with some o' those bite-sized green stuff. Then you'll serve some folks, an' here's the important part; the _third_ one you serve is the one you wanna point out to me. Remember? The third. An' don't muck this up; if you do, I swear I'll come after ya an give you a taste of your own poison.”  
”I am a priest!” Nev-Alisher whispered back. ”I can't go around serving appetizers; that is the slaves' task! It would be most suspicious.”  
”An' now you did it. Nar, calm down! I'm not gonna kill ya yet.”  
”Yet?!”  
”Look; forget it. So how do we do this?”  
”I shall send one of my own slaves with the order.”  
”An' that won't be just as suspicious how?”  
”Nobles never look at the face of a slave. It is of little import to them. And the slave carries the signet of the Temple, not my personal one.”  
”Hnh... Well, make sure the snaga doesn't muck it up. I'll still go after ya if it does. An' if you're a good boy...” He lifted Nev-Alisher's masked face up with a finger and gave him that leer that so many snagas in the backalleys of Lugburz had seen. Back there, it had been the last thing they ever saw. Nev-Alisher seemed completely mesmerised by it, both frightened and wanting. ”Then I might throw in a little bonus to the reward. If you like...” He brushed the outline of his ear with a blunt claw and flicked the ear lobe gently, making him twitch. Praktash chuckled as he let him go. ”Well, go on then! Make me happy.”  
  
He waited until the aggravated priest was well out of sight before he returned to the garden and took a plate from the stack next to the appetizer buffet. He had no idea what it was that Záhovar had asked for, so he took the chance to taste everything. While doing so, he looked around and spotted Nev-Alisher talking to a plainly dressed girl. He soon left and she turned towards the appetizer table, but froze and grew pale as she spotted Praktash. He gave her a wink and moved away to give her space, but kept one eye on her while searching for Záhovar.  
”I must say,” someone said close behind him and Praktash jumped and spun around snarling. Three garishly dressed men, members of the nobility but not of the khagan, had stopped beside the table. The one who had spoken gave him a surprised and annoyed look and Praktash forced himself to calm down.  
”I must say,” the man repeated, ”that I cannot fathom why her Elevated Ladyship would bring an Orc to a civilised gathering. Even dressed up, it is still beastly.”  
 _You've no idea,_ Praktash thought but held his tongue. He watched the slave girl offer treats to one of the other guests, who scowled and told her off. _They're bein' too obvious; no point in usin' Common unless they want me to understand. Sorry little roundears, I'm not that easy to piss off.  
_ ”Perhaps it is a Lugburz tradition for the ladies of the court to keep such... chaperones?” one of the others suggested.   
”It is not our place to speculate, Nev-Dailish,” the third said sternly. ”We should not question His Holiness.”  
 _Nev?_ Praktash thought. _Where've I heard that before?_ He frowned as the slave girl made a sudden turn after serving a second guest and came straight towards him. But she was not going to him; instead, she served the trio beside him. He discreetly took note of whom she served first. _Right; got him!_ He began to walk away.  
”Hold, Orc.” Praktash froze. The trio were all facing him now, and Praktash suddenly feared that he had been set up. _Where's Záhovar?!  
_ ”Why _did_ her Elevated Ladyship bring you here?” the one who had spoken first asked. ”What services can you offer that one of our own kind cannot?”  
Praktash had to bite his tongue not to reply that he'd rut her senseless whenever she asked for it and sometimes when she didn't. Once he had things back under control, he shrugged insolently. ”I could break your arm in three different ways an' tear your tongue out before you had time to call the guards. An' I'd be polite while doin' so.”  
”So you are her chaperone?”  
”No idea what that is. But I keep unwanted fingers an' other stuff off her. Like any Uruk worth his blade'll do, if he knows what's good for him.” At that moment he spotted Záhovar in the crowd. She was surrounded by a group of young men and women who all looked completely smitten. She herself looked extremely uncomfortable, if Praktash read her faint scowl correctly. He grabbed a plate and left the Rhûnish nobles, ignoring their indignant remarks about him not 'excusing' himself, whatever that was.

Záhovar lit up as she spotted him. Praktash adopted his most confident swagger and plowed through the crowd, baring his fangs at those who did not move fast enough. One young man paled and quickly backed away as he growled at him. _That wasn't even threatenin'!  
_ ”There you are,” Záhovar said as he stopped before her. ”It took you long enough. Did your little excursion bear fruit?”  
”Sure did,” Praktash replied and offered her the plate with a grin. Záhovar took one of the pieces and gave him the tiniest of nods in return.  
”<That's... That is no strangely coloured Man, is it?>” one of her fawners whispered behind her back.  
”<It can't be an Orc,>” a young woman replied. ”<It... He is... too handsome!>”  
”<Do not tell me you favour the beast!>” one of the men said with a disgusted scowl.  
”<Of course not!>” she replied. ”<How dare you insult me like this?>”  
”<There is no shame is such a confession,>” Záhovar said. ”<My Lug-snaga _is_ easy on the eyes, perhaps even... 'handsome', as you would say.>” The woman blushed and curtsied. Záhovar gave the young man a stern look. ”<Do you study the Black Speech?>”  
He straightened up. ”<Of course, my Ladyship!>”  
”<Then explain to me the meaning of 'Lug-snaga'.>”  
He frowned and whispered to himself for a moment. ”<It means... 'tower-slave'.>” Záhovar waited patiently and he swallowed. ”<They are... the slaves of the Black Tower, serving those who work there.>”  
”<That is the literal meaning of the word, yes. But 'Lug-snaga' is more than just a word; it is a title. Many of them are slaves in the traditional sense, but there are some who serve directly under a High Officer's command and they can rise very high, far higher than any regular commander. If this were in Lugburz, Praktash here would outrank many of those gathered here.>”  
Her fawners' faces were a study in bewildered awe and several shocked gasps could be heard from the crowd. Praktash had noticed that the trio by the table had drawn closer; at first they had been smiling patronisingly as the High Officer lectured the 'children', but now they looked concerned, confused and outraged.  
 _An' you said_ I _wasn't to cause a scandal!_ Praktash thought as people began to discuss and debate all around him. _Skai, I wish I knew what they're talkin' about!_  
  
They were interrupted by the sound of doors opening and a dashing man with dark brown hair, skin of pale bronze and icy blue eyes strode out through the gathered nobles and onto the porch above the stairs. His robe was black with intricate details in moonlight blue and carved mother-of-pearl closures. His keen eyes scanned the crowd until they found Záhovar's; he gave her a brief smile and a nod.  
”I am glad you could come,” he told her, as if they were speaking privately. Then he threw his hands out. ”That includes all of you, of course! Welcome! I hope you have not eaten your fill already, for these morsels are terribly poor fare compared to what lies in store!”   
”That is Hanikh,” Záhovar discreetly informed Praktash. ”Vice high priest of the One and our host for the night.”  
”'Vice' high priest?” Praktash asked. ”Who's the real one?”  
”Khamûl.”  
”Which is..?”  
”The former head of the khagan, high priest of the Temple of the One, general of the Junayd and first chieftain of the Wainriders. Now the second of the Nazgûl.”  
Hanikh had waited patiently for her to refocus on him; as she did so, he held his hand out towards her with a slight bow. The other guests gave way to Záhovar and followed her and Hanikh into the dining hall. Hanikh stopped by the door and exchanged a few more polite words with her before motioning for a slave to show her to her seat. Praktash was about to follow her, but the Man stopped him with a hand.  
”Please, do introduce yourself,” he said softly. ”I have not seen your face here before, and common courtesy dictates that you at least give your host a name to such handsomeness.”  
Praktash thought he had heard it wrong at first. But there was no lie in Hanikh's eyes, only confidence and a heat that seemed to draw him in. Praktash felt his cheeks flush a little as he stammered his name. Hanikh's wolfish smile widened a little as he repeated it with almost perfect pronounciation. Praktash felt completely dazed when the vice high priest finally let him go. _What the_ fuck _just happened?!  
_ Záhovar gave him a scrutinising look as he stopped beside her near the far end of the central table. ”What delayed you?”  
Praktash made a vague gesture towards the door.   
”Praktash... Look at me.” She smirked a little as he obeyed and whispered: ”your pupils are round.”  
”Shit!” Praktash rubbed his eyes with an embarrassed squeak.   
”What _is_ the matter with you?”  
”I dunno, he's just... smooth.”  
Záhovar nodded slightly. ”Be on your guard.”  
Praktash rolled his eyes. ”Y'know I'm not into roundears.”

The large hall was dominated by three long tables, with the central one reserved for the highest-ranking guests. Once Hanikh had claimed his seat at its head, he motioned for the others to do the same. The seat on Záhovar's left side was strangely empty, and Praktash wondered about it as he remained standing. Soon he realised that he was the only one doing so.  
”I do believe that chair is meant for you, dear,” Gîrnavêr said with a smile as she sat down in front of him. Praktash glanced at Záhovar, who nodded.  
”I would not have a guest remain standing,” Hanikh told him.  
”I don't see the other snaga sittin' down,” Praktash muttered and looked away as the vice high priest smirked.  
”And are you the same as them? A mere snaga, like any other?”  
Praktash threw Záhovar a look of discomfort and confusion and refrained from answering.   
”You have my permission to sit,” she said.  
He felt a little stupid as he sat down; the sudden attention made him increasingly self-conscious, especially with the witch's look-alike studying him intently from across the table. He jumped a little as he felt Záhovar's hand touch his under the table and he took it and squeezed it briefly before letting go. It was a bit weird that such a small gesture could make a difference, but it did.  
Not knowing what to do with the weird things on the table, he watched Záhovar and imitated her. There were silk handkerchiefs placed near each seat, and now she took hers and placed it in her lap so that it would protect her clothing from stains. Praktash did the same and received an odd look from Gîrnavêr. _What the fuck're you lookin' at, witch?_

Hanikh gestured for the slaves to begin serving the first course. The vast majority of the food consisted of vegetables, but eggs and products derived from milk were apparently not banned. This was because milk and eggs were freely given, Hanikh explained when Záhovar asked about it, although many of the nobility abstained even from that.  
”But I am not above making accommodations for those with differing tastes,” he added with a wry smile.   
Praktash was served last of all. While Záhovar was given the same dish as the rest, the plate placed before him was filled with thin slices of cured meat. There was nothing special about it, and Praktash had not eaten since breakfast so normally he would not have minded. But now...  
He leaned close to Záhovar and mouthed ”can I cause a scene?” into her ear. Záhovar arched an eyebrow.  
”Is it necessary?” she mouthed back. Praktash gave the plate a telling glance and shrugged. After a moment's hesitation, Záhovar nodded. Praktash pulled the handkerchief from his lap, tossed it on the table beside the plate and folded his arms across his chest with a haughty expression.  
Hanikh was not slow in picking up his change of mood. ”Is something the matter?”  
Praktash motioned towards the plate. ”Is that what I am? Just another beast among the rest?”  
Silence fell. Hanikh froze momentarily, his eyes wide with surprise, but found himself surprisingly fast. ”Of course not. I have offended you, and the shame lies heavily upon my shoulders.” He snapped his fingers at a nearby slave. ”Remove this and bring him the regular!”  
As a bowl filled with warm, watery soup and what looked like cheese cubes was placed before him, Praktash decided that this was one of the tougher choices he had made in his life. Saying no to meat in favour of coloured water was not sane, but there was no backing out now; he just had to roll with the punches. And the soup did not taste all that bad, although the white cubes were not cheese as he had first thought but something else that tasted strange and bland. _Is this all we get?_

It was not, but each course that followed brought new challenges. The first was the utensils used; a couple of thin wooden sticks that were held in one hand and with which the food was brought to the mouth. No matter how Záhovar instructed him, he just could not get it right. Even when he managed to keep the sticks from falling out of his grip, he kept dropping whatever he tried to pick up, and eventually he was so frustrated that it took all he had not to throw the stupid things away. Hanikh had watched his struggle with an unreadable expression; now he called for a slave again. The slave soon returned with a new kind of eating tools; a pair of pliers in the same material as the sticks.   
”I have no wish to offend you further,” Hanikh said as he held them up, ”so this time I ask; would you prefer to use these instead? You are not the first foreigner to struggle with the cho'ka, and I would not have you go hungry because of it.”  
 _If all I get is leaves, I'll starve no matter if I can get them into my mouth or not,_ Praktash thought. ”If you had these all the time, why d'you even use those sticks in the first place?”   
Hanikh frowned and eyed the sticks in his hand with a thoughtful expression. ”That... is a valid question, actually. Tradition, perhaps?”  
”Like so many other customs that only make sense to those living their lives with them,” Záhovar commented. Praktash bit his lip as Gîrnavêr gave her a disapproving look.  
”I'm sure many would disagree,” Hanikh replied with a smile, ”but I think that many times, great things might come from examining even our oldest traditions with outside eyes. And to tell you the truth...” He threw the room a conspiratory glance as he leaned closer. ”I for one am certain that many of those present here eat their dinners without even using hands whenever they think no one is watching.”  
Záhovar smirked at that. Praktash, on the other hand, gurgled and pressed the back of his hand against his mouth to keep from spraying the table with soup; his mind had conjured up a vision of the hated witch standing on all fours, gobbling down fine High Officer fare from the floor with the gusto of a starved warg. It took him several attempts to finally swallow so that he could laugh for real. Then he remembered what company he was in and desperately tried to stop. Several of the nearby guests gave him abhorred glances but Hanikh seemed quite taken by the outburst. The vice high priest's behaviour and constant studying of his every move began to creep him out a little, so he fixed his eyes on his plate and began to pick at the little green balls on it with an embarrassed frown. It helped that the musicians had now moved into a corner of the dining hall and had begun to play a calm, soothing melody.  
”Y'think there'll be green stuff growin' outta our ears after this?” He murmured to Záhovar, who was eyeing the boiled sprout sceptically. ”'Cause if there is, I hope I can use 'em for drugs.”

  
Praktash felt relieved when the last course was done and Hanikh signalled that everyone who wished to do so may leave the table. Despite having eaten more than he had since the hunt on the outskirts of the Desolation he felt strangely empty. _Must be the lack of meat,_ he thought as he left Záhovar's side to take a closer look at the musicians. _All this green stuff can't be healthy for anyone.  
_ There was a pause in the music as he squatted beside the carpet on which the musicians sat.  
”Don't mind me,” Praktash said with a grin. ”Keep makin' those sounds!”  
The musicians shared a frightened, confused look. Praktash pointed at the stringed contraption, and the woman holding it touched the strings with her fingers, conjuring up a little melody. The other two did the same as he pointed at their instruments.  
The round, hollow double-bowl fascinated him, and he had no idea how a piece of metal could make such a sound. The man who played it, an older man sporting a long, bushy beard with grey streaks in the black and fearless eyes, held it up and beckoned for him to come closer. Praktash reluctantly did so. The man gave him a smile that he thought might have been friendly and tapped his fingers lightly on the metal, making it sing. Then he motioned for Praktash to do the same.  
Praktash hesitated. _I can't do this, can I? What if it's sorcery? What if somethin' bad happens?  
_ Eventually, curiosity got the better of him. He gingerly reached out to tap the upside down bowl with a finger... and the moment his blunt claw connected with the metal, it let out one of thos bell-like sounds but sharper and so loud that it made both Uruk and musicians jump.  
Praktash recoiled and stared at his finger. _What the fuck just happened?!_ He gave the bearded man a suspicious scowl as he began to laugh softly. The man tapped the bowl twice, first with the pad of his finger, then with the nail, and the latter act caused almost the same sound as what Praktash had caused. Then he gave him a knowing smile.  
Praktash felt a bit stupid for not figuring it out earlier. _It's that simple?_ He reached out once more, this time using the soft side of his fingertip. This time the sound was far softer. Encouraged, he tapped a few other parts, and then alternated between using pad and claw. The wide range of sounds astonished him. The bearded man laughed and clapped his hands. Then he motioned for the two women. As Praktash struck the bowl, one of them played a few notes on her instrument in a way that seemed to amplify the sound he had caused. Praktash started at first, mesmerised by the sound. But then he grew bolder.  
  
Hanikh turned to stare in the direction of the musicians. ”What in the Void is that ruckus?!” Before he could act, one of the nobles that Záhovar had not yet been introduced to sauntered up to them.  
”My Elevated Ladyship,” he greeted with a flourishing bow. ”It is an honour to make your acquaintance. I am Nev-Dailish, head of house Nev and high chancellor of the Trade Consortium. On behalf of my esteemed colleagues, I would like to extend...”  
”I shall go and see what mischief those musicians are up to,” Hanikh muttered and left the High Officer to her fate.   
Praktash had moved on to the stringed instrument and was experimenting happily when he noticed the musicians blanching as the smiles disappeared from their faces. He turned to see the vice high priest standing right behind him with a little smile.  
”I see you are enjoying yourself,” the priest said.  
”Yeah, they...” Praktash began as he stood. ”They offered to show me how those things worked, an' I thought... Maybe I shouldn't have...”  
”Nonsense, you are a guest! Do what you like. Smash them, if you wish!”  
”That'd look bad on my master,” Praktash murmured. _Why the fuck would I wanna smash 'em for?_  
”If you wish,” Hanikh said, ”I have entertained High officers and followings of theirs far more... rambuctious than the present company. Do you drink?” He took a goblet from a passing slave and held it out to him.  
”Only what I brew myself,” Praktash replied, but he suddenly felt dizzy and could feel his hand wanting to move towards the goblet on its own. _The fuck?!_  
”Oh, you brew?” Hanikh sounded completely fascinated. ”I must say, I have always admired those who dabble in that craft. All the nuances that can be brought forth from more or less the same ale; I cannot fathom how you manage it!”  
”Well... Orcs don't really care about nuances,” Praktash replied with a lopsided grin. ”Most of 'em just wanna get as drunk as they can as fast as they can.”  
”And you? Are you the same as them?”  
”Well...” Without thinking, he took a sip from the goblet and immediately regretted it. Not because it was poisoned or tasted bad, but because that one sip made it clear what kind of rotten swill he had been breweing up until now.  
Hanikh gave him a worried look. ”Is something the matter?”  
Praktash swallowed and shook his head. ”Nar, it's nothin'...”  
”It was not palatable to you... The next time we meet, I will ensure that I have better fare to offer.”  
”Nar, I liked it! It's just different from what I'm used to.” _Next time?_ He made an attempt to escape the queer priest. ”Maybe I should look for my master.”  
”She took one of the side rooms,” Hanikh said, ”accompanied by a member of the Trade Consortium. I do believe she wanted to be left alone; something about arranging a journey? She even sent me away.” He gestured towards a curtain. ”Would you do me the honour of accompanying me until she is done? Some fresh air would no doubt do us both good.”  
A part of him insisted on seeking Záhovar out, but Praktash ignored it. He simply could not resist that inviting smile. Behind the curtain was a small, round balcony with a spectacular view of the city. Praktash leaned against a pillar and sipped his ale.  
”Nice view.”  
”Indeed...” Hanikh murmured. He lifted his gaze a little too fast as Praktash glanced at him.  
”Well, that's not obvious,” Praktash murmured back. Hanikh chuckled nervously and scratched his nose.   
”What is it with you priests? D'you never get laid? You're the second guy to ogle my arse in as many weeks.”  
”We are not alone,” Hanikh replied. ”There were more than a few ladies who expressed similar interests earlier tonight.” He smirked as Praktash shuddered. ”You have no such inclinations?”  
”I don't know what that means. If you're askin' whether I like plashnak, then... Nar. Or... It's complicated. But mostly nar.”  
”I see...” Praktash shuddered again as a fingertip lightly trailed his spine. ”And your master? What inclinations does she have?”  
Praktash turned around and slapped Hanikh's hand away. ”Are you serious?! If you're doin' this just to get into her, you're one crooked, nasty sn of a warg bitch!”  
”I have no such interest in her, I assure you!” Hanikh replied with a beaming smile. ”I was simply curious; you two seem very close.”  
”We're _not_ fuckin'!”  
”Then I misunderstood and I apologise.” Something strange entered Hanikh's eyes, something that made Praktash unable to look away. ”So... Have you no interest in others beyond your own kind..?”  
One moment Praktash was staring at the man; the next he had shoved him against a pillar, kissing ferociously. Blunt nails trailed fire upon his skin.  
”This is fuckin' awkward,” Praktash purred as Hanikh winced after one of his fangs broke the skin on his lip.  
”Then perhaps you would prefer to... bite?”   
Praktash almost lost his balance as his fangs were caught. Hanikh bit down so hard that he felt his jaw budge under the pressure. _This is crazy, this can't be happenin'!_  
After too brief a time, Hanikh broke contact. ”Perhaps...” he gasped, ”we should take care. After all, we are not alone... yet.”  
It took decidedly longer for Praktash to calm down. ”You,” he growled with a finger gainst Hanikh's chest, ”are a bloody tease!”  
  
  
Once he found Záhovar, he began to feel suspicious again. Something about the situation was odd, but he could not put his finger on what and he was reluctant to voice his concerns with Hanikh standing right beside him.   
As the last guests prepared to leave, Hanikh invited his guest of honour and her Lug-snaga into the parlour for some socialising in a more relaxed setting.  
”So, your Elevated Ladyship,” Hanikh said as he reclined in an armchair and motioned for a slave to bring them refreshments. ”Did you enjoy this little gathering? I hope I have not distracted you overmuch from your duties.”  
”Not at all,” Záhovar replied. ”A break in routine was most welcome.”  
”I cannot fully express how glad I am to hear that.” He took the goblet once it was filled and lifted it towards her before tasting.  
”I did mean to ask you about the statues in your garden,” Záhovar said once she has taken a sip. ”I have never seen or heard of animals like that. Are they a flight of fancy on behalf of the maker, or is there a deeper symbolism behind them?”  
”They depict a creature out of Wainrider legends,” Hanikh replied. ”They are called 'manjaki' and are described as ghostlike beings that only appear in moonlight. The legends say that they once possessed the speech of Men, but were cursed by the Elves and lost it. So now they wander the vast moonlit plains, bewailing their lost voices and hunting for the Elves that stole them.” He looked down into his goblet. ”As for the maker... I commissioned them from a master carver in Karath shortly after Rhûn annexed the city. They were his master piece... and the last he would ever make. He died tragically just after they were delivered. A pity.”  
The little smile that played on Hanikh's lips spoke plainly; _he_ had sent the assassin that ended the stonecarver's life, to make sure that he would never make anything that surpassed his last creation.  
  
Meanwhile, Praktash was deep in his own thoughts. _Skai, this is too good to be true... But he's so_ fine! _I wonder if she'd let me stay? Or maybe I could come back after I dropped her off..._ He crossed his legs to hide the bulge.  
After conversing with Hanikh for a while, Záhovar stood. ”I do believe all this wine is getting to me. <Slave! Show me to the restroom.>” She stopped in the doorway. ”Are you coming?”  
Praktash wobbled a little as he stood, too busy trying to hide his raging boner to care much about balance. Hanikh's knowing little smile made him blush furiously.  
”Perhaps he should remain seated,” Hanikh said. ”It would not do to have him fall and injure himself.”  
Záhovar seemed to consider it. Praktash felt conflicted; a part of him wanted her to stay, to not abandon him, but the rest of him could not get rid of her fast enough and hoped that she would take her time.  
”Perhaps you are right,” she said after a while. ”I cannot imagine the kind of assassin who would kill someone during... Very well; remain here. I shall return shortly.” With that she was gone.  
Praktash inhaled sharply and involuntarily arched his back; a hand landed on his shoulderblade and slowly traveled down his spine to settle at the small of his back.  
”Not too shortly I hope,” Hanikh whispered huskily. Praktash's eyes almost rolled back in their sockets as hot breath engulfed his ear and soft lips brushed the tip.   
”There's no way she'll give us that much time,” he whispered back. ”You've no idea how quick she can be.”  
Hanikh pressed his body against Praktash's backside. ”We need not go all the way...”  
”Sure, tease me with appetizers an' then pull the main course out from under my nose, will ya?”  
Hanikh only laughed, a sound that seemed to fill his ears and his chest at the same time. A very humiliating mewl escaped his mouth as Hanikh began to bite his eartip, completely unphased by the piercings. ”Oh, fuck fuck _fuuuck,_ this is cruel!”  
”'Mercy' is not a word I am familiar with!”  
Praktash allowed himself to be turned around and closed his eyes as he rested his head against the wall and took a firm hold on Hanikh's buttocks. The priest's hand moved to rest just beneath his navel and he bared his fangs a little as it toyed with the waistband of his trousers.   
”Look at me,” Hanikh murmured as he planted enthusiastic lovebites across the nape of his neck.  
”Y'don't need my eyes for this.”  
”Would you deny me the chance to drown in their toxic beauty one last time?”  
Praktash laughed out loud at his syrupy tone and opened his eyes to give him an incredulous look... and fell the moment he found those icy blue eyes. The world spun, faster and faster until the only thing that mattered were those eyes, the only thing he had ever wanted to see.  
”Do you want to please me?”  
”Yes..!”  
”Tell me then... _What is your mistress planning?_ ”   
Praktash's mouth went dry. Hanikh's voice went in through his ears and filled him up, somehow it caressed him from within and he had never wanted to answer a question so badly in his whole life. He opened his mouth to obey...   
  
Suddenly the collar around his neck _shifted_ and it felt like someone dumped a bucket of cold water over his head. He instinctively shoved Hanikh away; the priest stumbled backwards and landed heavily in an armchair. He shot back up almost as fast.  
”How _dare_ you-” The room went black and he gasped. ”What..?!”  
Záhovar's voice seemed to come from all directions at once. _”Thought you that I would not take measures against such clumsy attempts?”  
_ Praktash rubbed his eyes; going from light to dark and then back to light made them feel funny. When he opened them again, he found Záhovar standing behind Hanikh. She had cupped his chin in her hand, the steel claws of her gauntlet resting against his jugular.  
”You need to do better than that if you think to charm my Lug-snaga,” she hissed. Hanikh simply looked resigned.  
”Who planted this foolish idea in your head?” she demanded.  
Hanikh snorted. ”Do you take me for the kind of man who takes orders from others? I am no one's errand-boy!”  
Záhovar met Praktash's eyes as she smirked. ”Indeed? So we have caught the mastermind... How then should we punish you for this?”  
”I've an idea,” Praktash said. He could feel his old hate for Top Ones well up inside as he met Hanikh's eyes. The man held no attraction for him now, only hate and fear. _I can't believe I almost fell for it again!_ He grabbed Hanikh's package so hard that the vice high priest squeezed his eyes shut. Beads of sweat began to form along his taut brow and Praktash savoured the moment.  
”Here's a thought; we don't kill him. That's no fun. We pop his nuts, then cut his dick an' tongue off. Nail 'em both to the temple door, that'll send a nice message to the rest. Then we bundle him up an' send him to Thaurband with the next snaga train. Since he's so bloody fascinated with Uruks, I'm sure he'd fancy spendin' the rest of his nights on all fours in front of some bored taskmaster with too much time on his hands!”   
Záhovar's expression made him calm down a little. ”Did I ever tell you that your enthusiasm and inventiveness were two of the reasons for which I collared you in the first place? Your input so often gives me new perspective when it is most needed.”  
”Thanks Kafso- I mean, master! We're an awesome team with you at the top.”  
  
Hanikh had looked back and forth between them as they talked, unsure of whether they were serious or not. When Záhovar nodded and Praktash drew his knife, he began to struggle. ”No... There is no need for these threats, I will speak!”  
”Aww, come _onnn_!” Praktash whined in a lousy imitation of Sulmurz. ”Don't be such a spoilsport!” He held his gaze as he took one of the candles and began to heat the edge of the blade in the open flame. ”I really wanna know if this bling is all they make it out to be... I hope it isn't. I hope it's _dull._ ”  
”You are insane if you think you will get away with this!”  
”But my dear priest, who would stop me?” Záhovar asked innocently. ”And who would dare complain after the deed is done? I am here by order of the One.” She tilted his head with her claws to make sure that he met her gaze. ”I have heard His command with my own two ears, stood before His throne on my own two knees. I have suffered His touch and met His gaze, and was not found wanting. On what merits did you think to challenge His Shadow? And what insanity drove you to drag her into your petty political game, to use her to slake your feeble thirst for power?”  
Hanikh's face was white when Záhovar fell silent. ”I did not... Did not know...” Then it grew dark with anger. ”Dachman... He misled me, betrayed me! I swear to you, my lord, I would never have raised my hand against you had I known! He claimed that you were nothing but an upstart, an impostor sent by the Enemy to sabotage and sow dissent!”  
Záhovar smirked. ”And do you believe him?”  
”Not anymore. I was familiar with the title but had no face to attach to it.”  
”And who told you of its meaning?”  
”Khamûl.”  
”Did he visit here before I arrived?”  
”Yes, but that was at least three months prior, I have not seen him since. And he only told me of the changes in the Tower hierarchy, nothing more. I had no idea that you were the one.”  
”And what of Dachman?”  
Hanikh smirked. ”What of him, indeed... He arrived here half a year ago, and shared your interest for old maps and pre-Fall geography. He also came before the khagan and warned of an impostor among the High Officers' ranks, namely you, claiming that he had been sent on an important quest by the Eye Himself and that you might follow to make an attempt on his life. He tried to enlist the Junayd to stop you, but both I and the vice-general thought it suspicious and refused. Assassination attempts were made on us both shortly after he left the city. I should have seen the web then, but at the time there were other disturbances requiring my attention. I should have known that they were smoke screens.”  
”And I suppose you have proof of these claims?”  
”Of course I do. I also happen to know what he was looking for and in which direction he left.”  
After a moment's hesitation, Záhovar let go. ”You still owe me.”  
  
Praktash could hardly believe his ears. ”So that's it?! He runs at the mouth an' now you're just gonna let him go?”  
”You have quite the outspoken snaga,” Hanikh commented.  
”Outspoken, but seldom out of turn.” She gave him a calculating look. ”Are you loyal to Lugburz, vice high priest?”  
Hanikh bowed his head. ”I have never given Lugburz anything but my undying loyalty.”  
”An interesting choice of words.” Záhovar turned away from him and nodded to Praktash. ”Then take your punishment like the snaga you are.”  
Praktash did not waste any time; before Hanikh could react, he kicked him hard in the chest and sent him reeling. While he was still gasping for air, he yanked him forward and slammed him face first into the table, sending candles and trays flying.  
”You cannot be serious!!” Hanikh exclaimed, his cracking voice accompanied by the sound of tearing trousers.  
”You think this a jest?” Záhovar replied as she reclined in her chair. ”If so, should you not be laughing?”  
”Not laugh, maybe,” Praktash chuckled as he spat into his hand. ”But I'm sure we can make some kinda sound along those lines! How 'bout 'ah, ah, ah'?” He laughed as Hanikh wriggled and spat a curse at him in Rhûnish.  
Záhovar watched the struggle while sipping on her wine. ”I could sweeten the deal, I suppose. Resist long enough for this to burn down,” she nodded towards a nearly burnt-out candle, ”and we shall release you without harm. Until then, my Lug-snaga has free hands.”  
Praktash began to purr. Then he whooped as Hanikh's renewed struggles almost bucked him off. The vice high priest was a strong opponent, but Praktash already had the upper hand and was far more skilled at subduing others than the priest was at escaping such situations. All his struggles did was to ignite him further; the pain from what weak hits he managed to land, his increasingly laboured breathing and the little cries and the scent of fear that grew in strength as he failed to resist sent him into frenzy as the candle sputtered and wicked out.   
He had no lube at hand, so he spat to slicken the passage instead. It did not help much.  
”There is oil,” Hanikh muttered. ”In the left drawer on the desk, over by the corner.”  
”What, you're gonna help me out?”  
”You will have your way no matter what; I cannot fight you. Might as well lessen the damage to us both.”  
”...Spoilsport.”  
The oil did the trick; Praktash let out a hoarse groan as tight flesh resisted and then yielded to the intrusion. Hanikh bit his own hand but could not fully muffle the cry of pain that was cut short as Praktash began to thrust. The rest was a blur of pleasure and sweet violence. His victim's scream as he bucked his last intensified his climax and he soon collapsed, feeling sated and content.

 


	22. Confusion

Záhovar and Praktash left immediately after the deed was done. Hanikh had not seemed nearly as injured as he should have been; Praktash had not held back at all and the vice high priest suffered numerous bleeding bite marks all over his neck as well as his upper back and arms, but they did not seem to bother him.  
Once they were a safe distance from the mansion's gate, Praktash stopped and turned towards Záhovar with bared fangs. ”So let me get this straight; you _knew_ that he was gonna try to put me under compulsion, an' you took me there anyway? You _used_ me?!”  
”I did not know for sure that he was going to do anything, and the outcome would have been much the same no matter whom he targeted. But this is why I did not ask you to accompany me in the first place.”  
”But you knew he could do shit like that?”  
”Yes. He did not use compulsion though, I doubt he would be capable of it even if he knew how to.”  
”Then what the fuck did he do? Quit speakin' in riddles an' tell me!”  
Záhovar shook her head. ”Not here.”  
That was too much for Praktash. He took her arm in a steady grip and began to walk fast towards the palace.  
”I cannot keep up with you like this!” Záhovar protested.  
”Then run!” he snarled back. ”I've had enough of mind-messin' for one night; now I want some fuckin' answers!”  
  
Margzat leered and began to rise as Praktash and Záhovar entered the guest wing, but froze halfway when Praktash snarled at him to stay where he was.  
”Buddy?” Graznikh called. ”What's up?”  
”Not now, we're busy!”  
At the end of a corridor, opposite the entrance on the upper floor, lay a small balcony. Praktash dragged Záhovar there and shoved her against the rail once they were out of sight. ”No more mystery talk; out with it! What happened back there?!”  
Záhovar gave him a chilly look. ”Hanikh is a vampire. Now will you unhand me?”  
Praktash frowned as he obeyed. ”What's a vampire?”  
Záhovar took her time to adjust her clothing before replying. ”Once they were mortal men and women who served another of our True Master's servants. In return, She gave them the gift of eternity, much like our current Master did to the Nazgûl. But where the Nazgûl became wraiths, these men and women became vampires. In the Great War they were messengers, spies and assassins, but She was slain by the Enemy long ago and Her servants hunted like beasts. In this day and age they are exceptionally rare, as there is no one who can pass the gift on. Hanikh is the only one I know by name.”  
”So why is he out in the open like this? Seems like a stupid place to be for someone who's hunted. An' what did he turn on _me_ for?”  
Záhovar gave him a creepy little smile. ”I doubt that he would have survived for this long if he was unable to look after himself. If there is anything vampires are good at, it is hiding in plain sight. In fact...” She glanced up at the nearest roof. In the deep shadow beneath the base, two tiny red dots peered down at them.   
”...I do believe he has been following us this entire time,” she finished.  
” _It took you long enough, Elfling,”_ the dots hissed back in the Black Speech.  
”Mind your tongue, bat,” Záhovar hissed back. The red dots only laughed, an inhuman, gurgling laughter. They disappeared out of sight for a moment as the black-furred bat hooked its wing-claws into the wood above and flipped out of its upside-down position. As it did so, it rapidly shifted into the shape of a man, far larger than its previous form. Or the mockery of one; the vampire's true form had little resemblance to the man it had once been. Its torso was slender but far too long for its spindly legs, and it bowed at the waist rather than at the hips as the vampire silently landed beside them. It folded its large wings around itself like a cloak as it straightened up; each webbed ”finger” was tipped by a sharp, black claw that twitched slightly as the wings moved. Its feet were more akin to warg paws and its ears were large, round and transparent. They looked strangely fragile compared to the rest of its body.  
The vampire's face was reminiscent of a man's, but its slanted eyes were set too far apart and its mouth was more akin to a slit that revealed razor sharp, needle-like teeth as it smiled. Praktash involuntarily took a step back. The vampire's eyes were almost completely black, save for a thin, red ring that marked the outer rim of the iris; they looked a little too much like the widened pupils of an excited Uruk for comfort.  
”I see you do not find me as palatable as last we met,” the vampire commented. Strangely, its voice was still the same; smooth, confident and seductive.  
”Why did you follow us?” Záhovar asked.  
”You already know the answer,” Hanikh said and studied the thumb claw that topped one of his wings. ”Or a part of it. I am nothing if not curious, and you were a riddle I could not resist. 'How could she shrug off my charms so easily? How could she sense me doing something, anything, to her snaga when she was in another room? And how come I was not immune to her spell?' Questions, questions... It took me some time to figure you out.”  
”And what now? Will you brand me a traitor?”  
Hanikh gave her a surprised look. ”No, my earlier words were sincere and they still are. Whatever you might have been matters little now. He would not have made you one of the Three if He suspected treachery, and He is nothing if not cautious. No, the reason I followed you was because I thought things over and decided to offer you my aid. If Dachman is so mad as to try to turn half of Rhûn against you, he must have a reason. And you would not search for him so fervently if you did not have one as well. Perhaps they clash?”  
Záhovar hesitated for a moment. ”They do. But why would you offer to help after what we subjected you to earlier?”  
Hanikh chuckled. ”That? Believe me, I have suffered far worse. But I must admit to a slight bit of regret that my charms did not work; I have little interest in carnal adventures and Orc blood is rather unpalatable, but it would have been worth it just to see his expression when we ended up alone. A pity, really.”  
  
Praktash had stood silent during their conversation, pressed against the wall as far away from the vampire as he could. Revulsion and relief vied for control inside; revulsion because he had not only fucked this monstrosity but enjoyed it as well, and relief because Záhovar's intervention had saved him from an even worse fate.  
When the vampire smiled at him, he could take no more. ”Can I leave?”  
Graznikh had just managed to drag himself up the stairs despite the stabbing pain in his abdomen when Praktash stormed past him without a word. He watched him snarl at Urkhish that he would take today's watch. Urkhish gave him a queer look and glanced at Margzat. The krîtar nodded in aknowledgement and told him to beat it. The moment Urkhish was gone, Praktash sank down beside the door and hid his face in his arms.   
Graznikh and Margzat both took a step towards him, then they locked eyes. After a moment of mutual glaring, Margzat shrugged and walked back down to the bedroom. Graznikh squatted next to Praktash after a short but agonising walk.  
”Why the fuck're you up an' walkin' for?” Praktash growled without looking up.  
”What?”  
”Why does nobody ever fuckin' listen to me?” he continued. ”You're fine with usin' me an' my needles to patch ya up when you get chopped to pieces, but when it comes to the tough part of actually listenin' to me you all get tallow in your ears!”  
”Buddy... what happened?”  
”I don't wanna talk about it.”  
”For someone who doesn't wanna talk about it, you sure talk around it a lot.”  
”I hate Officers! I hate folks who refuse to listen an' I hate...” He sobbed and fell silent. Graznikh remained at his side. He knew Praktash well enough to know that his harsh words were not directed at him; something else was gnawing at him and Graznikh suspected that it had to do with Záhovar. He heard her command the others to keep an eye out for bats and to kill any that they found.  
” _That's_ what's wrong!” Sulmurz exclaimed and snapped his fingers.  
Záhovar arched an eyebrow. ”What is?”  
”I knew there was somethin' off 'bout this place from the start, I just couldn't put my claw on what 'at was,” he told her. ”Now I know; there're no birds here. There're always birds near water, but not here. Just lots o' bats.” Then he frowned. ”What've ya got 'gainst bats?”  
Záhovar did not reply.  
”See?” Zosh told Mikbork. ”I _told_ ya we shoulda thrown those stones!”  
”Well, now we know!” Mikbork replied with an excited grin. The snufflers scurried out on the balcony.  
”Hey, Mûrna?” Ghrazagh called with a leer. ”How's the arse?”  
”Shut up,” Mûrnaluzh grumbled.  
”Want more leaves?” Lîrnash snickered. ”I doubt yer shit can turn any more green, so 'at should be safe for ya to eat.” Mûrnaluzh advanced on him with a growl, but Urkhish and Draumaturz rose alongside Lîrnash and forced him to back off.   
”Sounds like he's tender,” Golnauk chuckled. ”Need a pillow to shit on? Oops... I mean 'sit on', o' course.”  
Praktash snorted and began to giggle. Graznikh leered and bumped his shoulder with his own.  
”Fuckin' idiots,” Praktash snickered.  
”Well, you started it,” Graznikh grinned. ”That was one _mean_ move!”  
Praktash only shook his head and gave him a beaming grin. Then he frowned. ”You've sweatin'.”  
”Aye, I shoulda waited a little with going up here.”  
”You idiot snaga!” Praktash got up. ”Now get your pretty arse back to bed, I'll whip somethin' up to stop the pain.”  
”I'll... try...” Graznikh winced as he tried to stand. _Why is everything spinning?_ Suddenly the floor rose up to meet him and all went black. Praktash let out a weary groan.  
  
  
”Hey.” Praktash tapped the bedpost with his claws and Záhovar looked up.  
”How is he doing?”  
”Better than he was. Stupid snaga should know to stay put when he's been sliced an' diced an' made ready for the stew.” He gave her a half-hearted grin.  
”And how are _you_ doing?”  
Praktash shrugged. Better than I was.” He threw himself on the bed beside her. ”I've got some news for ya, by the way. Good ones, this time.”  
”Oh?”  
”Remember that assassin I mentioned? He was at the party; I met him on my way to the bagronk.”  
Záhovar's eyes narrowed. ”And..?”  
”He pointed out his taskmaster. It's one of those fancy-dressed folk what sat next to us at the table.”  
”Which one of them? There were a few.”  
Praktash chuckled at that. ”Too many! Anyway, the one who dissed my drummin' skills. Nef-Ladidah, or whatever his name was.”  
”Nev-Dailish?”  
”That's it! Wait, you already knew?”  
”No, but he introduced himself to me and refused to stop talking.” She smiled. ”You have done well. I am... _sorry_ for putting you through what happened after.”  
”Never mind that, let's talk about nicer things.”  
”Oh? Like what?”  
”Like my reward.” He grinned as he took the book out of her hands and rolled on top of her. ”So what'll I get?”  
”What do you want? Wait,” she said and held up a hand as he opened his mouth; ”if you say 'Sulmurz' then that is out of the question.”  
”...Actually, I hadn't even thought of that. Thanks a lot, now I _want_ just that! Ah well, I guess I'll just have to settle for the first.”  
”Which was..?”  
”A bit of nibblin' on you.”  
”Praktash...”  
”I'm serious! You're all work an' no play these days Záza, you need to relax! Or you'll end up like the rest of us; all tense an' ready to pounce at the first bait you see.”  
”You insist on calling me that?”  
”Yup.”  
”Are you drunk?”  
”Not as much as I could be.”  
Záhovar scowled. ”Another used to call me that.”  
”I know, Graz told me.”  
”Yet you persist?”  
”As a matter of fact, I do. I won't let that wraith-snorter ruin everythin' nice in my life! An' 'Záza' rolls off the tongue far easier than 'kafsokhôr'.”  
”Please stop.”  
”Aw, but Zaaaza!” He snickered at her stern frown. ”Alright, I'll stop. _If_ you agree to make up with Graz.”  
”You would blackmail me?”  
”This isn't blackmail! This is bargainin'.”  
”He does not want that.”  
”What the fuck d'you know 'bout what he wants? You haven't even asked him!”  
”And what about what _I_ want?”  
  
Praktash bumped his nose against hers. ”Alright; out with it. What _do_ you want?”  
”I want to finish this mission and go back home!”  
”Y'don't say? We all do, Záza! Y'think the rest of us're happy with sleepin' on the ground, gettin' rained on and shot at at every turn? Nar! We wanna go home just as much as you do. But we got orders, an' we're in this together.”  
He continued to rub noses until Záhovar reciprocated. Then he rolled off her and watched her leave the bed and begin to pace. ”Look; I know you met one of those black-robed wraiths. You bloody reeked of it when you came to us back by the river Orcs, even down in that stinky tunnel I could smell their scent on ya. What happened?”  
”What do they smell like?”  
Praktash frowned. ”Like everythin' that's bad in this world.” He looked up. ”But don't change the subject. What happened?”  
”Why do you want to know?”  
”Because you've changed! An' you're changin' still, an' that bloody scares me. I'm terrified, Záza!”  
”And how exactly have I changed that frightens you so?”  
”You never rushed headlong into stuff before. An' you never ran over folks unless ya had to. You listened to us whenever we had concerns an' you didn't leave us in the blue about your plans. _An'_ you could take a joke.” He stopped her pacing by blocking her way and gave her a pleading look. ”The Záza I knew would _never_ choke her snaga to within a thimble of his sorry life just 'cause he pulled a bad joke at the wrong time. She wanted us an' others to follow 'cause we _wanted to,_ not 'cause we were too scared to leave or speak out!”  
Praktash stared into his master's masklike face and cold eyes. There was not the slightest spark of emotion there now, but he had to keep trying. ”About those wraiths... What do they even want with ya? Why do they keep seekin' ya out?”  
”The Nazgûl wants nothing. They have no minds or wills of their own. They do as our Master wishes, craves only what He craves.”   
”So what, they just... happen to cross your path now an' then?”  
The smallest of creases appeared at the corners of her mouth. ”Few things happen by chance alone. As for what 'they' want... Whatever orders I receive or whatever else they say when we meet, they always remind me of one thing; that we are one. And I believe I know what that means now.”  
Praktash's teeth began to chatter as his core froze to ice with fear. He was about to grab her arms and shake her, but something in Záhovar's cold look kept him from doing so. Instead, he resorted to kneeling and hugging her legs instead. ”Please Zaza, _please_! I don't want ya to turn into a wraith! I don't wanna lose ya!”  
”If that is indeed His wish, then who am I to refuse?”  
Praktash leaned his cheek against her hipbone, feeling desolate and alone. Anything he said from this point on that wasn't a full agreement would be open mutiny. There was nothing he could do; his master would become a monster, his buddy would kill himself and...  
”If you become a wraith, we won't be able to finish the job,” he whispered.  
  
Záhovar arched an eyebrow. ”What?”  
Praktash looked up and grabbed the little thread of hope with all his might. ”If you turn into a wraith, you'll fail the mission!”  
”Why?”  
”Don'tcha know what they feel like? I do. They can't hide; you feel 'em long before you see them. There's no hidin' their passin', or that of anyone who goes with 'em! An' we need stealth for this, we can't barge into enemy territory like we owned the place. An' one pretty little ghost can't do much if we get an army on our tail. 'Sides, if the Master wanted ya to be a wraith, y'don't think He'd've made ya one by now?”  
”Would you discard a knife simply because it is a little blunt, if it is the only one you have?”  
Praktash was about to stand, but stopped halfway and cocked his head. ”That's what you think o' yourself? That you're His unique little dagger that He can't throw away? Don't answer that.”  
Záhovar opened her mouth to protest with a mortified expression, but Praktash interrupted her. ”If I had a dagger that wasn't sharp, I'd sharpen it. I wouldn't keep usin' it an' hope I didn't slip an' cut myself with it. If you're meant to be a wraith, you woulda been one by now. But you're not, are ya? He's the All-Seein' Eye; maybe you should trust that He knows what He's doin' an' stop tryin' to change His plans for the worse.”  
Záhovar could hardly believe her ears. ”You would presume to know the mind of the Dark Lord?!”  
”Nar, an' you shouldn't either! Quit tryin' to change stuff just 'cause you _think_ it's what He wants, 'cause you don't know! None of us do!” He met her eyes with a defiant expression. ”You gonna choke me too now, for steppin' outta line?”  
Záhovar glared back at him for a moment, then she turned away. ”No. Your words, although harsh, make sense.”  
”Does that mean you'll start doin' so too?”  
”I will... try.”  
”'Try' isn't good enough, Záza. We need ya sane an' sensible. An' you need _him,_ even if you don't think so right now. Wait with the bond if you must, but... Give him another chance. For all our sakes.”

  
The following evening, the whole group were gathered in the bedroom when there was a sound from above.  
”I'm thinkin' there's someone at the door,” Margzat rumbled.  
”That'd be my reward,” Sulmurz said as he got up from his spot by the bed.  
Graznikh looked up from his leather-braiding. ”What reward?”  
”Ya know; for savin' Záhovar's arse and all what's attached to it.”  
”Aww, the puppy's got a stick!” Praktash exclaimed and drew a chorus of laughter from the others.  
”Har,” Sulmurz replied sardonically. ”Har. Har. Har. Actually, it's more like a bone... A huge one. With juicy meat still attached. And a bowl o' water to go with it. Only it's not water.”  
”So you got food an' booze? Keep rubbin' it in.”  
”I could... But I'd rather share.”  
The room fell silent and now every pair of eyes within it were fixed on him.  
”Alright; out with it,” Graznikh said eventually. ”Whaddya mean 'share'?”  
”It means what it sounds like,” Sulmurz replied with a lopsided smirk. ”Sure, I coulda asked for something nice just for me, but then I'd have some trinket that I'd hafta carry around or some food what'd soon be gone. An' then what? So I thought; why not make it somethin' that'll cheer up more than just me? We're a band, aren't we?”   
Anticipation and suspicion lay thick in the air as he turned to adress the whole group. ”Whatever ya think o' me, I'm not a selfish bastard. So I had our master pull some strings to get two racks o' perfectly cured aurochs and two barrels o' the best black ale your sorry arses'll ever taste. Dinner's served; no need to thank me.” Then he left to get the door.  
Urkhish frowned. ”What's aurochs?”  
”Trust me,” Graznikh said absently, ”you're gonna bloody regret the moment you find out!”  
”That bad, huh?” Margzat asked.  
”Nar, krîtar. That _good._ ”  
” _Black_ ale?” Praktash mused. ”I thought ale was supposed to be sorta muddy-lookin'. I hope I don't have to take care of a bunch of blind Uruks come mornin'.”  
”Can't imagine that Záhovar'd let him do something that stupid,” Graznikh replied.  
”I'm thinkin' two racks won't last us all 'at long,” Margzat muttered. ”I'm thinkin' this'll be a one-bite-snack an' nothin' more.”  
”I guess we'll see.”  
  
When Sulmurz returned, he was empty-handed.  
”So where's the booze?” Draumaturz asked.  
”I'm not yer fuckin' pack snaga! That's the end o' my charity; go fetch the stuff'n bring it down here if ya don't wanna run up the stairs.”  
He did not need to snap twice; Margzat barked at the others to use their arms and legs like they had any. Soon the crates and barrels had moved downstairs and suffered the eager looks of six Orcs and eight Uruks. Without further ado, Sulmurz swung Lîrnash's axe with both hands and broke open the barrel. After filling his bowl he took a sip, washed his mouth and swallowed, smacking appreciatively. Then he frowned. ”What the..?” His breath grew laboured and he threw the room a frightened glance. Záhovar's eyes widened with concern.  
Praktash shot up as Sulmurz fell to the floor with a choked gurgle. ”Sully? Shit!!” He hurried over and shouted for someone to bring him his healer's bag. ”Sully! Stay with us now, don't...” He trailed off as Sulmurz began to laugh.  
”Ya fell for it!! I can't believe ya fell for it! Nar, I'm fine! An' the _ale's_ fine, have at it!”  
”You fuckin' little bastard!!” Praktash snarled and shoved the snickering Orc hard in the chest, but he could not keep his own grin away for long. ”Don't do shit like this! You had us all thinkin' this was a 'look but don't touch' occasion!”  
”That'd be a bloody disaster for ya, wouldn't it?” Sulmurz snickered, but stopped as Praktash gave him an uncomfortably warm smile.  
”You're bloody _cute_ sometimes, y'know that, right?”  
”Aye, err... Ya can take yer hand off my chest now, I'm good.”  
”Bet you are...” The hand remained just long enough for Sulmurz to begin to squirm, but then Praktash yanked it away and held it out towards him instead as he got up. ”So; sheathe the swords for now?”  
Sulmurz gave him a suspicious look. ”Whaddya mean by that? Oh, come _on!_ ” he exclaimed when Praktash began to laugh.  
”You're unbelievable!! I _meant_ 'let's make peace'! Nothin' else!”  
”Well, ya never know with you Uruks,” Sulmurz replied with an embarrassed grin. After a moment's hesitation, he took the outstretched hand and let Praktash pull him up. ”Alright then. But no more gropin'n shit! This peace's got conditions!”  
”Everythin' has conditions,” Praktash replied with a grin and gave him a friendly slap in the back. ”C'mon, I wanna try that ale! Might wanna shake the brewer down for instructions too if it's good.”  
”You start brewin' this shit in Lugburz and we'll have a riot on our hands in no time,” Sulmurz chuckled. Then he caught himself. _Since when did he get so nice? Is he serious this time, or izzit another act?_ He threw a look towards Záhovar, seeking reassurance. She nodded to him with a smile that might have been encouraging.   
  
The racks turned out to be the largest Margzat had ever seen. Not only was each rib nearly as long as his leg, there was a thick layer of fatty meat on them too, more than enough to fill every belly in the guest wing. He drew his knife and cut them loose one by one, handing them out so that everyone got one each; even Kraash and Mûrnaluzh got their share. The snufflers got the smaller ones from the lower end of the ribcage and quickly climbed back to their hideout above the bed.  
Sulmurz, of course, was the hero of the night. Never before had there been such an enthusiastic audience as Draumaturz and Urkhish insisted upon him teaching them a few of the more obscure games he had collected, and even grumpy, superior-acting Ghrazagh slapped his back and commented appreciatively on his taste in booze. Kraash downed his ale so fast that he soon began to throw up and passed out shortly after; Ghakû thanked Sulmurz for finally giving him some time off from the 'baby-sitting'. The only one who was not in high spirits was Záhovar, who seemed deep in thought. She barely tasted the meat and absently sipped from the mug that Sulmurz had brought her, although she did thank him for bringing it to her.  
Eventually Sulmurz got a little overwhelmed by the attention, so after a good long while he excused himself and fled out into the garden to get some air. The ale was getting to his head and he stumbled and fell twice as he headed towards the pond. After dipping his head into the cool water and splashing some in his face, he felt a little clearer, but not by much.  
”Hey.” He stiffened as familiar footsteps approached and stopped behind him. Praktash gave him a friendly, inebriated grin and looked up at the clear sky. ”Skai, there's a lot of stars tonight!” Sulmurz watched him stare at them for a while, then shudder and look back down. ”I never liked clear skies, did I ever tell ya that? Somehow it feels like I'm lookin' down, not up.”  
”Maybe ya are,” Sulmurz replied as he got up. ”How do we know we're not standing upside down an' the stars're below us?”  
Praktash gave him an astonished look for a moment and began to fall backbards with crossed eyes. Sulmurz snickered as the Uruk stumbled backwards and was abruptly stopped by a tree.   
”Don't _say_ shit like that! You creepy little sot.” Praktash giggled drunkenly and took another swig from the mug he was holding. The look he gave him as he lowered it made Sulmurz acutely aware of the fact that he was alone and unaccounted for with an Uruk who had seen him as nothing more than a walking, squeaking fucktoy for the entire time they had known each other, and that that Uruk was now drunk out of his wits and blocking the only escape route.  
”Y'know; we really should do this more often,” Praktash murmured. ”You _know_ how to throw a party! Didn't take you for that kinda guy, not at all.”  
”Got my clever moments, I guess,” Sulmurz said with a half-hearted grin.  
”You sure do...”  
”So, err... Back to the others?”  
”Nar, I'd rather stay out here for a while,” Praktash replied and burped. ”You go on in if ya wanna.”  
Sulmurz's first impulse was to bolt for the door, but he did not want to trigger a predator's reflex in the Uruk so instead of running, he forced his legs to move at what he hoped would be perceived as a leisurely pace. He had almost, _almost_ reached safety before Praktash spoke again.  
”Y'know; I meant to talk to ya.”  
”...Uh-huh?”  
”I know I've been kinda rough on ya, an' I don't... Well, what's in the past is past, right? No hard feelin's for things we can't change. Right?”  
”Uh-huh.”  
”Glad that's outta the way!” Praktash grinned. Then he cocked his head. ”Say... You look a little tense. Is it 'cause o' me? 'Cause I'm just talkin', y'know. I'm not doin' anythin'.”  
Sulmurz gave him an insecure grin and tried to relax. ”Old habits die hard, I guess.”  
Praktash chuckled. ”Tell me 'bout it!”   
”And, uhh... it's not all yer fault.”  
”Really? So what's buggin' ya?”  
Sulmurz shrugged. ”It's just... This shit won't change anything. With the ale'n the meat, I mean. Tomorrow it'll all go back to normal, I'll be just another useless snaga.”  
”Now what makes ya think that? You saved Záza's life, an' that means you saved the rest of us too. That's no mean feat!”   
”...Just doin' my job.”  
”An' a _fine_ job it is... Real fine...” Sulmurz began to inch in through the door. Praktash looked at him and suddenly he seemed completely sober. ”Where you goin'?”  
”Need more booze,” Sulmurz murmured, waving his mug. His mouth went dry as Praktash took the empty mug out of his hands and replaced it with his own.  
”There,” he chirped with a too-friendly grin. ”No need to thank me.” He nodded towards the garden. ”C'mon!”  
  
As Praktash wrapped an arm around his shoulders and led him back out, Sulmurz frantically tried to understand what was going on. _I was on my way in there, but now I'm out here. Why'm I out here'n not in there?!_ Soon he found himself sitting on the bench by the pond, stiff as a board and with the Uruk's arm still around him. He could _feel_ those green eyes wandering over him, but he did not dare to check if he was right.  
”So... How's the shoulder?” Praktash asked a little too close to his ear.  
”Fine,” Sulmurz blurted out.  
”No ache, no weird sparks along the arm, no funny tinglin' in your fingertips..?”  
”Nope.”  
”Good... that's good. Coulda been a lot worse.”  
”Thanks.” He twitched a little as his ear was enveloped in hot breath as the Uruk chuckled softly.  
”Just doin' my job,” Praktash huskily replied. ”I guess we all are...”  
”Great.”  
”So tell me... What was your first kill like?”  
Sulmurz almost fell off the bench. Of all the things the Uruk could ask him out here, where he had him all by himself, that was among the last he had expected.  
”What?” Praktash asked innocently. ”I'm curious!” Then he couldn't keep his face straight any longer and gave him a nasty leer.  
”Ya utter bastard!!” Sulmurz snarled and shoved him off the bench. ”I thought ya were drunk outta yer wits!”  
”You're such a snaga,” Praktash snickered after recovering from the fall. ”I just wanted to watch you squirm a little! Nar, I can hold my drink pretty well.” He sat up with a happy grin and leaned his elbows on the bench. ”But seriously; what was it like? Was it embarrassin'?”  
”Isn't everyone's first time embarra-... _Quit_ snickerin', ya immature nutcase!”  
”I wouldn't know,” Praktash giggled. ”I can't remember mine.”  
”Yer first kill?”  
”You really had to clarify that, didn'tcha? Now who's the dirty one?”  
Sulmurz let out a drawn out, exasperated sigh and emptied the mug in one go. ”First off, it wasn't planned.”  
”Rarely is.”  
”Not if ya ask Graznikh.”  
”I'll hafta remember to ask him... But go on!”  
Sulmurz winced and hesitated.  
”That bad, huh?” Praktash grinned.  
”...Tark girl. Unarmed.”  
”Oh, that's just _cute!_ ”  
”Aye, she was...”  
”So what'd you kill her for?”  
”I told ya, I didn't mean to! I was fuckin' her, covered her mouth with a hand to keep her quiet, ya know, and... Well... Ya know.”  
”Mmm-hm. Happened to me too a couple times. Only they weren't girls...”  
”I don't wanna hear it!”  
”I _know_ you don't!”  
”So what was yer first like?”  
Praktash fell silent. Sulmurz eyed him when he did not reply; he was staring at the bench with a deep frown.  
”Nar,” he said after a while. ”I can't remember it at all. 'S all fuzzy.”  
”Well, it doesn't really count if ya can't remember it happenin', does it?”  
Praktash looked up. ”It doesn't?”  
”Nar, sure doesn't. What's the first one ya remember?” Then he winced. ”Lemme guess; arse-rape?”  
”Actually not,” Praktash replied with a lopsided grin. Then he grew serious. ”It's gotta be... Yeah, an Uruk. Back in Blog Shakâmb, just after I got out. Not sure I could claim it as mine though; he busted his head on the cobblestones after slippin' on my puke. He had kicked me in the guts, an'-”  
The laughter exploded out of Sulmurz's mouth before he could stop it. He dropped the mug and doubled over.  
”Now that's just rude,” Praktash commented. ”I didn't laugh at your story, now did I?”  
Sulmurz did not care; his earlier nervosity, the booze and the vivid mental image became a self-feeding loop and the exaggerated sulking faces Praktash kept making at him did nothing to alleviate his condition. Soon he was sobbing and gasping on what was left of the damp grass.  
  
”Well, I _do_ like this view,” came a husky purr. The laughter hitched in Sulmurz's throat when he found Praktash looking down at him. The Uruk was kneeling between his legs and leaning forward on one hand, planted just below his armpit. Sulmurz twitched a little as a blunt claw tickled the tip of his ear.  
”I'm tellin' master!” he squeaked.  
”An' what'll you say, little snaga? That I breathed on ya? I haven't done anythin'.”  
”Aye, 'cause leanin' over me like this sure is nothing!” Sulmurz tried to squirm away without touching him, but the Uruk only smiled lazily and crawled along.  
”Whaddya want?!”  
”You smell good.”  
”The Uruks'll stop ya! They'll...” He trailed off as Praktash's eyes grew dangerous.  
”They could. But d'you think they'll hear ya from in there? Sounds to me like they're busy with the ale.” His smile turned into a predatory leer. ”But g'won little snaga, call for help. Scream...”  
Sulmurz opened his mouth, but any sound he might have made hitched in his throat as Praktash licked his lips and closed in. The fingers returned to his ears and Sulmurz desperately tried to focus on something else, anything that could block out the obscene sensation.  
”Those rings in your lips're real sweet,” Praktash whispered hoarsely. ”Did you have 'em both done at the same time?” Sulmurz nodded mutely while staring stiffly up at the stars. Praktash chuckled. ”So you're a tough little guy... I like that! Sometimes you're just a huggable little snaga, but I think you're growin' harder too...”  
”Will ya sod off?!”  
”You want me to leave? Then look me in the eye an' say so.”  
As Sulmurz complied, the smile slowly faded from Praktash's lips. The moment he looked into those green, glowing eyes he could see nothing else; the Uruk held him fast without even touching him. Praktash eyed him, red lashes quivering slightly as his eyelids grew heavy. Sulmurz forgot to breathe. The Uruk worried his plump lip briefly... then he closed what little distance remained and gave him a brief kiss. Not an Uruk kiss, but a soft brushing of lips against lips, followed by a wet tongue. Sulmurz blinked, squeaked into his mouth, shoved him away as though he had been burned and began to spit and gag. ”What the fuck is wrong with ya?!”  
Praktash blinked a few times, as if he had just woken up from a dream. ”What..? What?”  
”Whaddya do that for?! Ya sick Uruk!”   
”...You didn't want that?”  
”Do I _look_ like  I wanted that?! She told ya not to touch me!”  
”Not to touch ya unless you wanted me to, yeah! An' with the way you looked at me, I thought you did! You sure _smelled_ like you wanted it. An' scent doesn't lie.”  
Sulmurz did not have the guts to press the issue; he turned away with a disgusted, embarrassed snarl.  
Praktash watched him leave. Then he chuckled and gave the cold, uncaring stars one last look. ”He really has no clue, does he?”  
  
Sulmurz was shaking with confusion and humiliation as he crawled into bed.  
”There you are,” Záhovar murmured drowsily and held her arms out towards him in a silent invitation. Sulmurz happily obliged and as he scooched close, wrapped himself around her and inhaled her scent, he could finally relax a little. This was good. This was _right._ But no matter how he tried, he could not forget the touch of the Uruk's lips, the scent of his breath, the sound of that low, near inaudible purr as he closed in. Older, more painful memories resurfaced unbidden and he choked back a whimper as he hugged her close. He did not feel like a seasoned Orc warrior, but more like the lonely, frightened cub he had once been, clutching his mother's skirt in a feeble attempt to hide from a scary and confusing world. A mother who did not want him and kept him locked up in a cupboard at night, isolated from the safety of his litter because she feared that he would kill them when she was not looking.  
Slowly the world turned dark and silent as the others settled down. After a while, Záhovar woke up. ”Sulmurz? What is wrong?”  
”Nothin',” came the muffled reply.  
”Look at me.”   
Sulmurz reluctantly obeyed. He whimpered a little as he swallowed; his throat felt like someone had rubbed its insides with sand. Záhovar lifted her arm with a concerned expression and placed a wonderfully cool wrist against his sweat-soaked forehead.  
”Sulmurz, you are burning! Praktash!!”  
”I'm not lettin' that Uruk touch me!” Sulmurz snarled.  
Záhovar sighed. ”What has he done now?”  
”...I don't wanna talk 'bout it.”  
”Very well. Graznikh? Graznikh!”  
”Grr-muh?!” Graznikh grunted and jerked awake as she poked him. He dragged himself over to Praktash and soon after, Praktash was up and concocting some medicine.  
”I gotta ask for overtime pay if this continues,” Graznikh muttered as he fell back into his pillow.  
”You are my Lug-snaga at all times,” Záhovar pointed out. ”There is no such thing as 'overtime' for you.”  
”Wonderful...” He glanced at Praktash. ”You done with that draught yet?”  
”It would help if I knew what it is I'm supposed to be curin',” Praktash replied sourly. ”Fuck, my head...”  
”He's got a fever and he's sweating a lot.”  
”So? That doesn't have to be a problem.”  
”How is having a fever not a problem?” Záhovar asked.  
”I don't know, one of the books I took from the library back in Lugburz said so. Sully? Will you quit bein' a touchy arse an' let me take a closer look so we can all go back to sleep?”  
Sulmurz mumbled something that sounded like approval. Praktash came over and began his examination. First he palpated Sulmurz's shoulder but found that it was healing well. Then he leaned in close to sniff his breath and ignored the threatening growl. Sulmurz soon began to cough and sneezed in Praktash's face.  
”Skai!! Thanks a lot, you wanna spread that shit to the whole uzhâk?!” Praktash growled while wiping his snot-covered face. Sulmurz only snickered until he started coughing again.  
”Great,” Graznikh muttered. ”So we've got one soap-intolerant snuffler-”  
”I'm fine now!” Mikbork squeaked.  
”-a snotty archer, one crippled Uruk-”  
”Like fuck I'm crippled!!” Ghrazagh snarled.  
”I'm thinkin' ye're far worse than ya look, since ya took 'at bait so quick,” Margzat drowsily retorted.  
”-another with a chopped-up arm-”  
”Not anymore,” Lîrnash muttered.  
”Then stop scratchin' it,” Urkhish told him.  
”-a third with a perpetual chafe-”  
Golnauk shot Praktash and Margzat a sour look as they began to snicker.  
”-a rogue opa-snaga...” Graznikh paused and threw the others a suspicious look, but no one protested that particular information. ”And I'm still near sliced in half. And most of the injuries are our own doing. Anyone wanna bet on the odds of us surviving this?”  
”I'm thinkin' we should look on the dark side,” Margzat said. ”No one's died yet.”  
”Will you shut up?!” Praktash exclaimed. ”That's the most sure-fire way of gettin' someone killed!”  
Margzat gave him a blank look.  
”I read it in a book,” Praktash tried, but there was still no reaction. ”It's this little box with stories in it... Look; I'll explain later, alright?”  
Graznikh gave Záhovar a hopeless look. ”This can't possibly get any worse.”  
”That's also a sure-fire way of gettin' someone killed,” Praktash pointed out. ”Usually the one who keeps bein' a gloomy bore.”  
Graznikh bared his fangs at him. ”Watch where you're sticking that thing.” Only now did he notice that Praktash had a black eye. ”What happened to ya?”  
”Oh, it's nothin'. I just had a little chat with Kraash about some stuff.”  
”A 'chat', izzit?”  
”I might've gone a little farther too. Don't be surprised if he walks funny for a while.”  
”What about that arm o' his?”  
Praktash snickered. ”Why would I fuck his arm for? You're a pervert.”  
”So are you!” Mikbork snapped. ”Peeper.”  
Graznikh glanced at the snuffler and pointed at his eye. ”Kraash?”  
Mikbork shook his head vigorously.   
”Buddy... Quit messing with the snufflers.”  
”But they're so cute,” Praktash purred quietly.  
  


Záhovar gave the Uruks one day and night to overcome their hangover before ordering them to equip themselves for battle. Margzat, Golnauk, Urkhish and Draumaturz were chosen to form the honour guard as she made her way to Nev-Dailish's estate in the southwestern part of the temple district.  
”This is insane!!” he shouted as they marched in and took him captive in his own home. ”I have always been a loyal servant of Lugburz! Always!!”  
”Then why did you send your underling to murder my Lug-snaga?” Záhovar asked coolly.  
Nev-Dailish's face fell. ”Underling? What underling?” He looked to the side as Praktash shoved Nev-Alisher into the room. She had no idea how he had managed to find him, but she suspected that Hanikh had something to do with it.The priest grew white as he spotted Nev-Dailish.  
”You...” Nev-Dailish hissed. ”You useless milksop! I should have sent you to Karast as planned! You are and have always been an utter disappointment!!” He took a deep breath and looked at Záhovar. ”This 'underling' is my so-called son. I sent him to assassinate Duerrin for the man's obvious tark sympathies and my son's constant failure to be the man he should be, but I have not seen him since. I took him for dead; one less weakling in this world. But now I find that he is indeed alive, and not only has he failed me but gone behind my back to frame me for the crimes committed against you!”  
”And I suppose you have proof for this claim of innocence?”  
”Of course I do! I have the letter Dachman sent me that frames you as a traitor and murderer. A letter that I know he sent to several others as well. I also have a confession from a man the Junayd captured, a man later pinpointed as a saboteur that poisoned wells along the northeastern trade route, doing so on Dachman's orders, no doubt to delay you and halt the news of his passing in that direction. I have worked to bring clarity to the matter ever since the letters arrived, and to root out the assassins.”  
”And why was I not informed of this?”  
”Because you never asked! Rhûn is _loyal_ to Lugburz, khagan and priesthood alike! We do not interfere in the High Officers' internal politics, it is not our place. But Dachman broke that unwritten rule when he sent those letters and forced our hand. We could not sit idly by while a High Officer was murdered in our streets!”  
”And the note that I found on the assassin, mentioning the mask of steel?”  
”A smoke screen, intended to lay blame on those furthest from it. Hanikh openly denounced Dachman when he passed through, and he failed to gain the support needed from the khagan to challenge the priesthood. Or perhaps he did not have the time; he did seem to be in a hurry.”  
”And the sniper at the gate..?”  
”One last shoot from an already dead tree.”  
Záhovar piched the bridge of her nose. Then she reached for the Unseen so fast that Praktash had no time to react; Nev-Alisher screamed in pain and fear as the black threads closed in on him and the room filled with utter Darkness.  
 _”You have one chance to tell the truth; does he lie?”  
_ ”NOOO!!!”  
The light returned as rapidly as it had disappeared. Nev-Alisher gasped and fell to his knees, then he scrambled to his feet and ran. Záhovar nodded for Praktash to follow him before she gave the command to untie Nev-Dailish.  
  
Praktash found Nev-Alisher hiding in a corner. His shoulders were shaking slightly.  
”Have you come to kill me now?” the priest asked bitterly. ”Give me a taste of my own medicine, or however you said it?” He turned around when Praktash did not answer and the slap he received echoed in the silence.   
”You lied to me!” Praktash growled.  
”As if you have never used someone else to get what you want or to avoid an unwished-for fate?!” Nev-Alisher shouted back. He rubbed his stinging cheek. ”You know what? I don't care! Kill me now, if you wish! I'd rather die as myself than suffer what my father has in store for me!”  
”Why didn'tcha tell me the truth?” Praktash asked.  
”Would you have believed me? I don't think you would. You were already convinced of my guilt! Besides, if I had, my visiting the joyworkers would have been out in the open! Do you have any idea what it's like, growing up knowing that everyone around you expect you to be something that is the exact opposite of what you are?!”  
”Nar, but I've probably had it worse.” Praktash snorted; this was not worth getting riled up over. He could repair things with Záhovar later. ”So what's the opposite of what you are?”  
”A 'proper man',” Nev-Alisher spat. ”Dueling, marrying a well-bred young lady, siring children! I can barely stand to look at them! And I prefer... the opposite of women. I joined the priesthood against my father's will, because the Temple preach that who or what you lay with does not matter as long as you serve Him, but my father threatened to have me disowned! And the law says that unmarried children must obey their parents regardless of age, so here I am.” He collapsed against the wall as a paroxysmal sob escaped him. Praktash did not need to stand close to smell his fear; it filled the air around him like a thick miasma. ”And now he'll send me to Karast... Better to kill me now!”  
”Why, what happens in Karast?”  
Nev-Alisher only shook his head at first; he was crying too hard to answer. After a while he replied; ”they cut... cut your...” He motioned towards his groin. ”They take it all away, make you eunuch... A neutered slave! And then, they... take your mind too, they torture you until you go insane, until there's nothing left but a drooling shell...”  
Praktash felt a chill run down his spine. ”So ditch the bastard. Screw him!”  
”And go where?” Nev-Alisher gave him a hopeless look. ”I have nothing!”  
”Sure you do. You're a priest of the One, aren'tcha? Go to Lugburz.”  
Nev-Alisher sobbed a few times, but his crying soon stopped. He wiped his eyes a few times. ”But... I am no soldier.”  
”You don't need to be, that's our job. What'd you do as a priest, just tell people to do stuff the way the Eye want 'em to be done, or what?”  
”No, I... I worked in the Temple's administration. I collected offerings, catalogued sacrifices, oversaw handouts, signed official letters and such. It's a lot of paperwork, running a temple.”  
”Well, that's great! The Census Archives're always lookin' for capable scriveners. Or join the Quartermaster's Office in Thaurband. Trust me; you wanna be a pervert, Thaurband's the place to be. You wanna fuck dead birds? Fine, no one's gonna bat an eyelid there 'cause they've already seen an' heard worse.” He grinned as Nev-Alisher began to laugh.  
”You're not serious!”  
”Actually I am, sad as that is. Just... stay outta the alleys at night. It can get pretty nasty at times.”  
”By the Eye,” the priest laughed. Then he sighed. ”Lugburz... It seems I have no choice. Where do I sign up?”  
”I'll write 'em a letter. Then you ask my master for a seal of approval. Might wanna get those priests o' yours to sign it too. Then you're off with the next caravan.” Praktash leaned against the wall beside him and bumped his shoulder with a fist. ”Chin up Alice, you're not the only misfit who found a place there! If they could handle me, they can handle you.”  
”You are one strange Uruk,” Nev-Alisher said with a lopsided smile.  
”If I got a token for everytime I heard that... Let's go tell yer daddy the good news. An' if he says shit about buggers, I'll punch him.”  
  
Nev-Dailish frowned. ”Lugburz?”  
”Yes,” Nev-Alisher replied.  
”And why should I let you go there to sully my name further?”  
”And why should I reward you when all you have done is delay me most grievously?” Záhovar asked. ”If not for your folly, I would already be on my way!”  
”Záhovar,” Praktash said in a pleading voice.  
”You need not guard your tongue,” Záhovar told him. ”Speak.”  
”Alright; you owe me. I saved your life, remember? I want you to pay up, now.”  
Záhovar arched an eyebrow. ”You would ask for payment... for another? Is this Man so important to you?”  
”Nar, but-”  
”Don't,” Nev-Alisher said. ”I have had enough of charity.” He turned to Záhovar. ”I know I failed,” he said through gritted teeth. ”I know I... mucked up. But isn't it better that I make up for it by dedicating my life to serving the One we all serve in the end? I am a skilled administrator, and I've been told Lugburz is in need of more. I could do well there, far better than I would as a neutered madman.” He shot his father a baleful glance. ”Better than I would as a 'proper man'.”  
”Besides, joinin' the paper turners might be a worse punishment than Karast could ever be,” Praktash chimed in. "Bureaucracy can kill ya with boredom."  
Nev-Dailish gave his son a look of distaste. ”Get you gone from my sight. You have tonight to pack your things; from then on, you are no longer welcome in my house.”  
”Was I ever?” Nev-Alisher retorted.  
”Hold on a moment.” Praktash walked up to Nev-Dailish. Then he slapped him hard, far harder than he had hit Nev-Alisher. The unconscious nobleman hit the floor with a thud.  
Záhovar gave him a cold look. ”I take it you have a reason for doing that?”  
”I just wanted to test a theory of his,” Praktash innocently replied.  
”What theory?”  
”That roundear guys somehow get stronger if they don't fuck other guys up the arse, or get it fucked themselves.” He looked down at the dazed noble on the floor. ”I don't think it works. Alice still stood up after.”

 


	23. Marching On

After downing an unhealthy dose of painkillers, Graznikh could not stand seeing the inside of the guest suite any longer. While Záhovar and Praktash were gone, he left for the stables to visit his long neglected warg and take him for a 'stroll'. Restless after being restrained for so long, the young warg bounded into the streets the moment he mounted and all Graznikh could do was hang on for dear life. They passed the Temple Gate at breakneck speed, oblivious to the frightened screams of Men and beasts alike. Akûl slowed down once they reached the outer wall, only because the gate was too crowded to simply plow through.  
”Now calm the fuck down,” Graznikh growled at him and pinched his ear. ”I don't need ya to pull a muscle just because you can't keep yourself in check!”  
Akûl whined in reply. As soon as Graznikh let go, he pounced and nearly threw him off, just to prove that he still had a will of his own before obeying. They prowled through the eastern slum's narrow alleys until the houses suddenly dispersed and the vast plain rolled out before them.  
Akûl fell into a fast trot at his command. Graznikh did not plan to do anything strenuous; he just needed to get out of the crowded city and spend some time alone with his thoughts, or in the company of one who did not wear on his nerves.  
  
His feelings for Kraash had grown into pure, unadulterated hate. Not only had the rogue bastard attacked both him and Záhovar, he was onto their secret. _And if he's onto it, I bet Ghakû is as well,_ he thought. _And they hang out with Mûrnaluzh these days; what if he's in on it too? How many has_ he _spread it to? This is getting bloody dangerous!  
_ He was so deep in thought that he did not notice his own danger before Akûl let out a warning bark and sped up. A quick look behind made him curse; the dust cloud on the horizon meant horses. _Riders or Wainriders? Either way, I don't need this now!_ He tried to return to the city, but the hunters cut him off. Now he could see the light two-wheeled chariots with ease; injured as they both were, there was no way that he and Akûl could outrun them. Soon they were overtaken and skidded to a halt, preparing to fend for their lives.   
The four chariots circled them rapidly. The charioteers, three in each chariot, carried javelins, spear-throwers and heavy spears made for stabbing, but none were used against him. Graznikh roared a challenge that went unanswered. The chariots suddenly fanned out and continued circling at a distance while a fifth approached. This new one was far more decorated than the others; ebony planks and bronze details shone in the bleak sun; the dun horses that pulled it wore blankets of polished bronze scales, chanfrons of the same metal and all leather details were black. Three men rode in it; one held the reins, the other two were armed and armoured. Graznikh recognised one of them, who was a tall man with a piece of warg fur wrapped around his shoulders; he had led the force that attacked them in the river valley. The horses pranced and neighed as they stopped, agitated by the scent of warg. Graznikh and Akûl squared up to face them. _I bet I'll get a spear in my back the moment I charge. But why are they not? They got me cornered; what the fuck do they want?_

The warg fur man eyed him closely. ”Drop your weapons,” he called in thickly accented Common, ”and your life will be spared!”  
”Spared, but not unspoiled, is it?” Graznikh snarled back. ”I'm not about to let ya poke me without a fight!”  
”The one you held captive is no longer with you. Where is he?”  
”Are you daft or blind? I've no prisoners, want none too!”  
”So you killed him? We found no bodies or bones along your trail.”  
”And who the fuck'm I supposed to have captured, exactly?”  
The chieftain - Graznikh was certain that he was a chieftain of some sort – fell silent for a time. ”High Officer Záhovar of Lugburz. Khamûl ordered us to find and escort him to Rhûn.” He gave Graznikh a hostile look. ”We were told that he was surrounded by Orcs. And Khamûl did not lie. You were easy enough to single out, white one. Where is the rest of your band?”  
Both Orc and warg stopped growling, shared a glance and began to laugh.  
”You think me a jester?” the Wainrider chieftain spat. ”I would show you the error of your ways, Orc, if I had not been ordered to take you alive!”  
”Looks like the great Khamûl forgot to tell ya one tiny little detail,” Graznikh sneered. ”I'm lord Záhovar's fucking bodyguard! That's right; I'm his own snaga! You attacked his escort, and he's gonna want your head on a tin platter when he finds out what you've done!”  
”As if I would believe the word of a rogue Orc,” the chieftain retorted. ”Perhaps I should serve him _your_ head on a platter!”  
”Do it,” Graznikh growled. ”I hope you like the Void, 'cause that's where you'll end up! The moment I go, he'll know! I'm bound by more than collars; he owns me body and soul!”  
”You have no soul!”  
”Whatever. You want lord Záhovar? He's at the palace. Let's go meet him!”  
The chieftain eyed him suspiciously before nodding to his men. Graznikh and Akûl soon found themselves trotting back to the city gates with nine javelins aimed at their backs. _Bloody fitting number, that, considering who sent 'em. Or what._ At the gate, the chieftain commanded a halt.  
”Why're we stopping?” Graznikh asked, but no one replied. He seethed quietly as he waited. One of the others left his chariot and ran up to the gate; after a while, he returned and whispered something to the chieftain who nodded and turned to Graznikh. ”Soon we will see who speaks the truth.”  
”Why don't we just go up there?”  
”We do not enter walls,” the chieftain replied. ”It is not our way.”  
”Your Khamûl sure didn't mind 'em back in Lugburz.”  
”Khamûl is above such matters.”  
”'Course he is...”  
The wait was a long one. Graznikh dismounted Akûl to take the load off his back, made him lie down and squatted with his back against the warg's coarse fur. The Wainriders remained in their chariots, and Graznikh took note of the fact that the locals kept their distance despite the activity at the gate. The clouds dispersed while they waited and he pulled the hood up further to keep the stinging touch of the Sun off his skin.  
He was not nearly as cocksure as he had pretended. Záhovar had nearly turned him into rations the other night, and their argument was nowhere near settled. Would she even care to come?

After a long and boring wait, they heard a distant commotion from inside the city that steadily came closer and Graznikh got the answer to his question as the crowd parted to give room for High Officer Záhovar. She had somehow managed to get her hands on a new horse, a grey wild-eyed destrier that pranced back and forth as it trotted. Margzat, Draumaturz, Golnauk and Urkhish formed the honour guard and shoved those too slow to move on their own out of the way. Suddenly the horse leapt sideways, knocking Golnauk over but without stepping on him. Záhovar pulled the reins hard and the horse reared with a terrified shriek, nearly toppling over backwards before relenting. Once it had all four hooves on the ground, she stroke its mane and whispered something to it. The horse's eyes grew even wider and it began to tremble, but all of a sudden it stood perfectly still, even with hanging reins. It slowly moved forward as she straightened up, stopping beside the Wainrider chieftain's chariot without any visible cue.  
The chieftain bowed curtly before her and opened his mouth to speak, but Záhovar raised a hand to stop him. She gave him a pensive look, then proceeded to study her gauntleted hand. Graznikh had recently sharpened the little steel claws that topped each finger, and they glittered in the bleak sun. The next moment she closed her hand and backhanded the chieftain hard. He jerked backwards, stumbled on the edge of the chariot and fell flat, sending up a little dust cloud as he hit the ground. Záhovar met Graznikh's eyes briefly and without the slightest change in her cold, impassive face she winked at him. Graznikh's heart skipped a beat.  
The chieftain had soon caught his breath. ”How dare you..?”  
Záhovar's expression as she looked down on him was equal parts loathing, scorn and mocking pity. ”What little patience I once had with your ilk is long gone. Not only dare you attack my retinue on the plains and a second time here, but you judge me so weak as to allow myself to be taken prisoner and, last but not least, you lay hand on my Lug-snaga and threaten to kill him, thinking him a rogue! What have you to say for yourself?”  
”I sent for lord Záhovar,” the chieftain protested. ”Who are you, his concubine?!”  
”No,” Záhovar replied icily. ”I _am_ lord Záhovar.”  
Graznikh had to bite his lip not to laugh at the chieftain's expression, one he shared with every single one of his soldiers and more than one among the crowd that had gathered to watch the exchange.   
”Thanks master,” he murmured as he stood and sauntered over to her with Akûl at his heel. ”I owe ya one.” Záhovar's expression did not change as he took the stirrup and pressed his forehead against her boot, but Graznikh did not care. _If she was that pissed at me, she woulda just ditched me. But she didn't. That must mean something, right?  
_ ”You have slighted me,” Záhovar concluded as she turned her horse.   
”We were sent to escort you,” the chieftain called after her. ”By Khamûl himself!”   
”And you failed,” Záhovar replied without looking back. ”I shall have to ask Khamûl about this failure.” She smirked ever so slightly. ”I look forward to his reply. It shall be... interesting. I wonder if you will survive the answer?” Then the smirk faded, and the air seemed to grow colder around her as she looked over her shoulder. ”Take your ragged tribesmen and leave. If you have complaints, take them to Khamûl; I have neither the time nor the patience to hear them.”  
  
  
The following two weeks were weeks of misery. Graznikh was under strict orders to remain in bed, but it mattered little since everyone in the group save Záhovar soon fell ill with the same symptoms as Sulmurz had suffered; a sore throat, runny nose, headache and general weariness. The whining and complaining was such that Záhovar eventually moved her table and chair to a room upstairs to get some peace of mind. That did not keep her Lug-snaga from pestering her; where they previously had been so weak that they could barely walk across the room to get water, they now came upstairs to complain and feel sorry for themselves.  
”Before I left Thaurband, I thought that there was nothing worse than a bored group of Orcs. Now I know that there is; a bored, _diseased_ group of Orcs.”  
”But maaaster,” Praktash whined. ”We're dyin' here! We've been poisoned, obviously! Why're you not stagin' an investigation?”  
”You have _obviously_ been infected with the same minor illness as Sulmurz, and his condition passed in a week! And _he_ obviously picked it up in that filthy excuse for a tavern where you have all been spending your time. I am surprised that you did not fall ill before now.”  
”So there's a plague going on?” Graznikh mumbled. ”Great... Can we burn the city when we leave?”  
”Need I remind you that you have had this exact illness before, in Lugburz? Return to rest; Eye knows that you need it.”  
”Quit yer gripin',” Margzat growled. ”Ye're not snaga!” Praktash only moaned in reply.  
”I still think we should burn th' place,” Graznikh muttered from beneath the blanket.

A knock on the door gave Záhovar a much needed respite from her suffering snaga. Golnauk opened the door at her behest and revealed Hanikh, who was followed by several slaves carrying crates.  
”As you command, so I deliver,” he said with a curt bow. ”I must say, you have far better taste than I expected.”  
”Elaborate clothes make poor travel wear,” Záhovar replied as she offered for him to enter. ”I have little need for gear that paints a target on my person; our enemies are doing that perfectly fine without my aiding them.”  
Hanikh gave the guest wing a look of derisive chock. ”My word... I had nearly forgotten the destruction that Orcs leave in their wake. How can you withstand dwelling in this mess?”  
”It keeps me from growing homesick.”  
Hanikh returned her smirk. ”I do look forward to seeing the expression on the overseer's face when he realises the task set before him.”  
”And you _will_ see it, of course.”  
”Even if I must hang upside down in here for a week after your departure, so I will.” He returned to the door and beckoned for the slaves to enter. ”But I did not come here for idle talk; here are the things you requested.”  
Záhovar reached into a crate and lifted a grey bundle which she tossed to Margzat in turn.  
The krîtar caught the bundle and turned it over. ”What's this?”  
”Clothes,” Záhovar answered. ”The further north we go, the colder the weather. We will all have an easier journey if we stay warm and dry.”  
The clothes were simple; knee-long fur vests, made from the hides of horses that had been slaughtered during winter when their fur was thick and long; simple cloaks, shirts and chaps made from woven and felted wool. While those intended for the Orcs were simple and put together in haste, whoever had made Záhovar's clothes had clearly put more effort into it; they were made from the wool and fur of naturally black animals, the stitching was fine and there were discreet decorations of dark red wool along the hem, sleeves and the high collar that closed with a button by the side of the neck.  
”I hope I do not offend you by saying that red and black are not your colours,” Hanikh commented. ”I found the blue ensemble you wore at the dinner far more flattering.”  
”Only because you wore a similar one,” Záhovar retorted. ”Was there no blue wool in the city?”  
”No. The dyeing process is time-consuming and you did say that you were in a hurry. Although I cannot help but notice that you have been unexpectedly delayed by happenstance,” he added with a telling glance towards the downstairs bedroom where several Orcs and Uruks were sniveling audibly.  
”Tell me about it,” Záhovar murmured. Then she frowned. ”Where do these colours come from?”  
”The blue is derived from a plant. I am not familiar with the whole process, but it takes weeks depending on what hue one wants.”  
”And the red?”  
”Lice, I believe.”  
Záhovar gave the scarlet embroideries a look of suppressed disgust and refrained from inquiring further. After exchanging a few more courteous words, she saw Hanikh to the door.   
”What do we do with these?” Margzat asked her and held the garment up.  
”Leave them in the crates for now. Once your Uruks are well enough, have them try them out to see what fits. Graznikh will do the same for his Orcs.”  
  
  
Once Praktash had recovered from his brief bout of runny nose and throatache, Graznikh began to tiptoe around him, hoping that he had forgotten his previous plans. He made sure to keep his hands full at all times and to stay out of the Uruk's path as much as he could to postpone his impending doom, but in the end it was all for naught.  
”Do I have to?” he pleaded as Praktash dragged him downstairs by the ear.  
”We've put this off for far too long,” Praktash muttered.  
”But we're fine now! No trouble at all; this really isn't necessary.”  
”Quit bein' a snaga!”   
When they reached the bedroom, Graznikh's legs refused to carry him any further. Praktash tugged at his ear but stopped when he got no response; instead, he turned to look at him. ”Buddy?”  
Graznikh leaned forward, hands on his knees, and shook his head. Now that he stood here, doing so for the first time since his injury, knowing that Záhovar was inside... he found that he was afraid. Far more so than he had expected, far more so than he had thought possible. Knowing that she had this kind of power over him was one thing. Being on the receiving end of it was something altogether different, and it had triggered a deep, instinctual fear within. How could he ever reconcile with such a being? Praktash might as well have asked him to swim to the tark island.  
Praktash cocked his head. ”What's wrong?”  
”I can't do this.”  
”Buddy... You won't get her back if you don't-”  
”Did it ever fucking occur to ya that I might not _want_ her back?!” Graznikh snarled with bared fangs, his face a twisted grimace of hate and fear. ”Never crossed yer mind that I might not want _any_ o' this? I never bloody wanted to _be_ here! But you don't care, nar! always running her errands, you are. For all the Uruk you try to be, you'll always be a fucking snaga!!”  
Seeing Praktash's hurt face, so open and vulnerable, only made Graznikh more angry but he managed to stay his hand. Slowly he backed away, then he turned and ran. 

Praktash stared after him, unable to comprehend what had just happened. Had he been wrong this whole time? He blinked a few times as the tears threatened to overwhelm him. He could not face Záhovar like this, not after failing her so grievously for the second time. She had probably heard the whole exchange anyway.  
He found Margzat and the rest upstairs. The krîtar gave him a lopsided grin as he spotted him. ”How's it goin', Bukrazikh?”  
Praktash winced. ”Can we talk?”  
Margzat's eyes narrowed as he heard the tenseness in Praktash's voice. ”Arright.”  
”Alone.”  
Margzat told the others to hold the fort before following Praktash into an empty room, one of the few with an intact door. By now, the Orcs and Uruks had torn most of the others down for fuel. After slamming the door shut with a foot, Praktash threw himself against Margzat's chest with a sharp sob. Margzat stared at him for a moment before wrapping his arms around him with a little grin.  
”Ye're a queer one, Bukrazikh.”  
”I can't do this,” Praktash wailed against his shoulder. ”I'm goin' crazy!”  
”I'm thinkin' 'at meetin' didn't go as planned, then?”  
”There was no meetin'. He backed out.”  
Margzat frowned. ”What?”  
”He backed out,” Praktash repeated while wiping his cheek. ”Told me he never wanted any o' this, an'...”  
Margzat pulled him close as he teared up again. ”I won't pry, but...”  
”He said I was only tryin' to be an Uruk... that I was a snaga for choosin' her over him! I didn't even know I'd made a choice at all, I'm just tryin' to fix things!”  
Margzat chuckled and shook his head. ”He wants ya to go 'gainst the Lug-durbatar? How stupid does he think ya are?”  
Praktash only shrugged.  
”I'm thinkin' 'at Lug-snaga needs to be taken down a notch or two. He's treadin' a dangerous line, an' now he's askin' ya to go rogue too? I'm thinkin' I don't like 'at, not one bit.”  
”I didn't go here to make ya get into a fight with him too!”  
”'Get into a fight'? Bukrazikh, the only fight here is the one he picked himself! He's stubborn, sure, an' 'at can be a good thing, so long as it's aimed in the right direction. But this? This is outta line!”  
”You an' your bloody lines,” Praktash muttered and squeaked as Margzat tickled his side with a claw. ”Don't _do_ that!!”  
”Don't beat yerself up,” Margzat rumbled amiably. ”'S no point; I'm thinkin' ye're doin' fine.” He chuckled when Praktash scowled. ”Who's in charge?”  
Praktash glanced at him. ”Whaddya mean?”  
”Who's in charge, Bukrazikh?”  
”...Záhovar, I guess. Why?”  
”Aye, the Lug-durbatar. An' what does she want with all this?”  
”I don't know yet. I didn't tell her, after he bolted.” He winced and whispered: ”I don't dare.” Then he continued, even quieter: ”I'm so fuckin' weak...”  
Margzat refrained from commenting on that particular topic. ”I'm thinkin' he doesn't know us Uruks very well. Callin' ya a snaga when ye're actin' the opposite.” He bared a fang as he spotted a pair of green eyes peeking up at him. ”The Lug-durbatari gives the orders, us Uruks follow 'em. 'At's how it is, can't change 'at. Now snaga, they question an' bicker an' need to be kept on a tighter leash. Ye're just doin' what ye're told. An' I'm thinkin' the Lug-durbatar gave ya all 'at freedom o' speech for a reason.”  
”An' yet I failed her twice,” Praktash whispered miserably.  
Margzat frowned. ”Twice?”  
”I don't wanna talk about it. It's too embarrassin'.”  
”...Right. Now ya made me bloody curious.” He started snickering as Praktash punched him. ”Ow.”  
”Fuck you,” Praktash growled as he could no longer keep the smile from breaking through the tears. ”Fuck you an' your forked fuckin' silver tongue!” He took a step back and bared his fangs as Margzat playfully licked his cheek, the split tips dancing over his skin. ”Jerk.”  
”Off ya go, Bukrazikh. 'At Lug-durbatar won't be happier if ya make her wait.”  
  
Záhovar briefly looked up from the paper as Praktash entered. ”So he did not come...”  
”He's scared,” Praktash blurted out. ”Y'know; 'cause of what you did to him. He's-”  
”I heard the exchange. Leave it be; I will deal with him later.”  
”Could you... not make it sound so ominous?”  
She looked up again. ”I did not know that I 'made' it sound in any particular manner.” She put the paper down. ”You have done no wrong; you need not fidget like that.”  
”Right,” Praktash replied nervously. He sat down at the table when she offered him a seat. ”Whaddya read?”  
”More map notes. Here is a tracing of the shoreline the Thaurband note depicts; there must be a correlating shoreline on more recent maps, but I have yet to find it.”  
Praktash studied the tracing for a moment. ”You sure it's a shoreline?”  
”It was on the original map.”  
”Nar, I mean, what if it isn't now? You said that durin' the True Master's fall, everythin' changed. Lands sunk into the sea, seas turned to deserts, that sorta thing. What if this isn't a shoreline anymore?”  
Záhovar stared at him with wide eyes for a while. Then she lightly banged her head against the table with a groan. Praktash snickered and patted her head. ”Don't worry Kafsokhôr; we can't remember everythin' all the time.”  
”But it should have been obvious! I have been searching for something that does not exist! First Sulmurz and now you; I may as well leave this mission to you.”  
”Don'tcha dare go home without us, that's not fair!”  
”Worry not,” she replied with a weary little smile as she sat up and accepted the drink Praktash poured her. ”But now at least I am on the right track.”  
” _We're_ on the right track,” Praktash corrected her. ”Let's keep lookin'; it's bound to show up somewhere. Should be a mountain range or hills, from the looks of it.” He picked up a pile of old maps and began to search. Záhovar did the same, but soon set them down again. ”I do believe I have found it. But... This is bad.”  
”What is?”  
”It lies far to the north, deep within enemy territory.”  
”Tarks live that far north?”  
”No, not tarks. The enemy there is far older, and far more dangerous.” Praktash tried to press her for details, but she would not elaborate on the matter. But she looked very concerned, and once Praktash found Graznikh and Sulmurz, he held a brief council with them both.  
  
  
When they gathered outside the stables a week later, Sulmurz barely recognised the pack horses. ”The fuck did they _do_ to 'em?”  
”<The poor beasts were starved,>” the stablemaster explained after Záhovar had relayed the question, ”<so I took the liberty of sending them to pasture. A few weeks of grazing in sheltered pens has been good for them, don't you think?>”  
Both Záhovar and Sulmurz had to agree; the previously gaunt and down-trodden nags had filled out and life had returned to their eyes, to the point where they even shied away as Urkhish began to tie the panniers to the pack saddles.   
”Wonderful,” Sulmurz muttered. ”Now we gotta deal with a bunch o' half-wild horses too. As if grumpy Uruks aren't enough.”  
” _You_ will deal with 'em, you mean,” Praktash grinned. ”I'm not touchin' that.”  
”Funny that,” Draumaturz sneered. ”Thought ya liked big butts.”  
”Get lost, pig-wanker.”  
”Snot-licker.”  
”Mud-humper!”  
While the Uruks kept throwing increasingly inventive insults at each other, Graznikh commanded Ghakû, Kraash, Mikbork and Zosh around. Sulmurz had given him the whip, 'just to be sure', and it came in quite handy when Kraash began to talk back. _I'm beginning to like playing the taskmaster,_ he thought as he watched the rebel flinch every time he moved his fist in his direction.  
”Nar, nar, nar!” Ghrazagh growled as he spotted the travois. ”Ye're not putting me on that thing again!”  
Praktash turned to Záhovar. ”Want me to knock him over the head?”   
”Hold on to that thought,” she replied, ”but I do not think it will be necessary.” Ghrazagh's upper lip twitched as she stopped in front of him. ”Uruk.”  
”Lug-durbatar.”  
”Kneel.” Ghrazagh obeyed without question, but it took him quite some time. Once he was down on his knees, he was panting heavily and his face distorted in pain.   
”What are you?” Záhovar asked.  
”Ghrazagh, BS krith-azg ruk-nam. Uruk.”  
”Is that so? Then why do you refuse to serve?”  
”I can't serve tied to a pile o' sticks! If we're marchin', I'm marchin' too!”  
”That is out of the question! You are a capable soldier, and I doubt not that I will have need of your axe _and_ your shield before this is over. But the strength of your arms will mean nothing if you have no legs with which to move.” She placed a hand under Ghrazagh's chin and forced him to meet her gaze. ”There is no shame in recovering from a battle wound, ushatâr. Do you want to be of use to me? Or would you prefer to fail me for the sake of pride?”  
Ghrazagh's nostrils flared as he exhaled. ”Failure's not an option,” he admitted with a hint of a growl in his voice.  
”Indeed, it is not,” she said, her voice softer than before. ”Your time will come, ushatâr, and when it does you must be hale to face it and stand victorious in the end. Turning yourself cripple will not aid you, not the pack and not me. Prove your resolve by making this sacrifice and allow yourself to heal.”  
Ghrazagh nodded and saluted by lightly beating his chest with a fist. ”Aye, Lug-durbatar. Yer command is my law.”  
After proclaiming herself satisfied with his answer, Záhovar turned to her horse, but not before giving her Lug-snaga a glance. Sulmurz gave her a nod in return, but Graznikh averted his gaze.  
”Graznikh; you will cover my right side. Sulmurz, the left. Krîtar! Is all set?”  
”Aye, Lug-durbatar!”  
”Then we march. Now!”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On dyeing – the plant that Hanikh describes is indigo which gives a dark blue colour, and the 'lice' is Kermes insects which gives crimson.


	24. Unexpected Company

They left Rhûn with replenished supplies and renewed energy. Despite being sore from the encounter with the Wainriders, Akûl had healed enough to carry his own weight and that of Mikbork and Zosh; now he trotted back and forth along the group, sticking his nose into holes and burrows along the road. Walking still hurt, but Graznikh sucked it up and focused on enjoying the cool sea breeze. The North Road followed the rocky eastern coastline and offered a spectacular view of the Sea of Rhûn. To the east, the land rose through a rolling hill country up to the foothills of a mountain range whose peaks glinted like fire in the setting Sun.  
”So how big is the sea?” Praktash asked as they climbed yet another slope and watched the waves crash against the cliffs far below. ”I mean, there's gotta be an end to it somewhere, nar?”  
”It is _a_ sea,” Záhovar explained, ”but not the only one. And yes, there is an end to it. Like Nurn, this sea is bound by land on all sides. The Encircling Sea however, the 'true' Sea, girdles all lands.”  
”What's beyond it?”  
”The Void and the True Master's prison.”  
Praktash shuddered. ”Then how come it's not all pourin' out?”  
”It does not because the world is distorted. There are now no roads leading to the Gates of Night; the only one capable of reaching and unlocking them is our Master.”  
”What happens when He does?”  
Záhovar did not answer, but the wind suddenly seemed colder than before. Praktash decided that he had had enough answers for now.  
  
”Where do we go from here?” Graznikh asked when they stopped for the day. ”Just north?”  
”For a while,” Záhovar replied. ”Then we turn slightly east. The maps showed an anomaly there that roughly matches the shoreline on the note.”  
”But... wasn't that map from before stuff changed?” Sulmurz asked. ”How do we know it's the right place?”  
”While you were ill, Praktash and I cross-checked with later maps. Many studies have been made on how the land changed during the Cataclysm.”  
”So ya managed to translate it?”  
”No... But I have been able to narrow it down a lot.”  
”I don't like the sound o' that,” Graznikh said while handing her a filled bowl. ”What're we heading into?”  
”A contested area,” Záhovar replied. ”Rhûn has been at constant war with its northern neighbour for generations, and the reports coming out of the borderlands are vague at best.”  
”'At's odd,” Margzat commented. ”Shouldn't they have supply lines an' stuff?”  
”They should, but whoever it is they are fighting is quick to cut them off. Apparently they were fighting a losing battle, but for some reason the frontlines have not moved in many years. No spies have ever made it out.”  
”Sounds like stealth's our best option there,” Graznikh suggested. ”Creep in, creep out, stay low while we're in there.”  
”You are right, as you so often are; being caught is not an option, for this enemy leaves none alive.”  
”So what _is_ this enemy?” Praktash asked. ”You've been dead quiet about it even since ya found out where we were headed. But I kinda wanna know what we're goin' into.”  
”That is it; no one knows. I have tried to find out, but there are no reports on the nature of those dwelling beyond the border. All I know is that the Dorwinians-”  
”Elves,” Graznikh interrupted. Margzat gave him a sharp glance.  
Záhovar nodded. ”The Dorwinians avoid the area. It is the only direction in which they send no trading caravans.”  
”Say what'cha want about Elves, but they know how to fight,” Ghakû muttered.  
”Sure do,” Graznikh replied. ”Dirty.” The Orcs snickered.  
”But... a place where Elves refuse to go an' no one returns? That's no laughin' stock,” Praktash protested.  
”Don'tcha worry Bukrazikh,” Margzat rumbled. ”I'm thinkin' they haven't sent any Uruks there yet.”  
”That we have not,” Záhovar confirmed. ”Still, caution is our best defense. Keep your wits about you once we cross the border.”

  
Three nights later, the cliffs receded and the land evened out. Here the road meandered through lush woods that grew all the way down to the shore, broken here and there by calm, brackish lagoons framed by little white beaches. One morning, they made camp by one such lagoon where a frothy creek provided fresh water for drinking. When the tent was set, firewood gathered and Margzat was busy with the food, Praktash took the opportunity to explore their surroundings. Most of the plant matter that he used in his potions, salves and other concoctions was dried or ground up; he had no idea what the plants looked like while growing. Still, he knew what they smelled like and after a while of tearing leaves and flowers up, crushing them between his fingers and sniffing the result he had managed to identify a few that he knew were good for curing headaches or stomachaches or that could be used on wounds to keep them from getting bad. He stuffed a few fistfuls of each in his bag for later sorting.  
In the lagoon, some distance from the little waterfall, he spotted some large green leaves and white flowers floating on the water. They did not seem to have fallen into it as they did not move with the stream, so Praktash got curious. The water was warm, so after leaving his bag on the beach and removing his boots and greaves, he waded out to take a closer look. The bottom was steeper than he thought at first, but the plants were not far from the shore and the water was only waist-deep where they grew. After doing the scent test on them, he decided that he recognised them, but was unsure of where and how. _Maybe it's the wrong part of them I'm sniffin'?_ He tried the flower petals as well, only to get the same results. _What about the roots?_ He used his toes to follow a slimy stem down into the sea bed. There he dug around until the thick root came loose and he could pull it up by the stem. After washing the mud off and scratching the surface of the root, he took a sniff. _Oh, it's_ that _one! Poison, even a small bite makes you puke your guts out, but only when it's raw._ He waded back to the beach and put the root in the bag.  
On the way back to camp he had an idea and began tearing fistfuls of flowering herbs up. Graznikh had showed him how to braid rope from warg hair and now Praktash used the same method to braid the flowers into a colourful wreath. Once he was satisfied with the result, he sneaked back to camp with a grin.  
  
Most of the Uruks were napping while waiting for supper. Golnauk was tending the fire and threw Praktash a discreet look when he noticed him sneaking up behind Margzat. Praktash held a finger to his lips and showed him the wreath; Golnauk responded by starting to beat on his bracer with a snarl.  
”Fuckin' ants,” he grunted and began to noisily unbuckle the bracer. ”Dunno why they keep creepin' into everything. Bloody useless critters.”  
Margzat chuckled at him. ”Ants? Really? You've grown soft-skinned, ushatarkû.”  
”Fuck off, whelp,” Golnauk stoically growled back. He never found the 'ant', but his little diversion had worked as planned; the krîtar's greasy black hair now sported a wide assortment of flowers and fancy grasses. Praktash hurried away as quietly as he could while biting his lip.  
”I'm hungry,” Lîrnash muttered. Ghrazagh opened his mouth to agree, but one look at Margzat made him croak and bite his fist. Lîrnash gave him a confused look, then he choked back a bout of hysterical snickering.  
”Arright, food's done,” Margzat said loudly and banged the ladle against the pot to make sure everyone had heard.  
”Perfect timin',” Praktash said cheerfully as he sauntered into camp and threw himself down by the fire. Draumaturz suddenly exploded with laughter, quickly followed by Lîrnash but Ghrazagh and Urkhish were just as quick to punch their respective shieldmates into submission. Even so, a very strained silence reigned in camp as Margzat began to hand out the bowls. Kraash repeatedly failed to suppress his snickering despite Ghakû's claw-jabs, and now Margzat began to look suspicious.  
”What?” he growled at Ghakû. Ghakû only shrugged and shook his head. Margzat gave Golnauk an inquisitive glare.  
”Don't look at me,” Golnauk said with a lopsided grin. ”I don't keep track o' the snaga.”  
Mikbork and Zosh picked that moment to return. They took one look at Margzat, then Zosh let out a sound that was more akin to a scream than a laugh and both goblins dashed back into the undergrowth. Margzat looked behind where he was sitting, but there was no suspicious activity going on there. Mûrnaluzh was nearly hyperventilating, but managed to keep quiet.  
”What the fuck is goin' on?!” Margzat growled at Praktash, who looked up with his mouth full.  
”Don't look at me, I don't know!” Praktash replied while chewing vigorously. ”Nobody ever tells me anythin'.” He scowled. ”There's a flower in my soup.”  
  
Draumaturz fell over with a braying sound and Urkhish desperately tried to keep himself from drowning in his mouthful of soup while shaking in a silent fit. Lîrnash bolted for the edge of camp before spitting and collapsing against a tree. Praktash carefully arranged his face into a mask of saintly innocence as he scanned the forest. ”We're three blades short. Anyone seen our glorious leader?”  
”She's here,” Graznikh replied. He and Sulmurz had taken a piss break and encountered Záhovar on the way back. Now they returned together but stopped short at the edge of camp. Sulmurz stared at Margzat, mouth hanging wide open. Graznikh cracked up in a big leer and began to chuckle quietly. Margzat's face was a study of bewildered fury that only grew until Praktash thought that he might burst into flames.  
When Záhovar laid her eyes upon the furious, black-skinned Uruk giant in full armour with a flower wreath that did not quite fit on top of his head, she gasped. That gasp came back out as a soft little giggle that steadily grew in strength until she was laughing out loud, all the while looking completely shocked over the fact that she was even capable of making such a sound. That made it impossible for Praktash to keep up appearances any longer, and moments later the entire camp erupted. Margzat stared at the High Officer, too shocked to react with more than a wibble. Then he shot up.  
”WHAT THE FUCK IS GOIN'-” As he did so, the wreath slid forward so that one of the bluebells poked his nose. He howled in surprise, tore the wreath off and threw it on the ground.

Slowly, Margzat squatted down and picked the wreath up. His eyes narrowed dangerously as he studied it. Then he turned to face Praktash.  
”O' all the folks here, I know only two who'd be this stupid,” he growled. ”An' one of 'em was right in my sight the whole time. 'At leaves only one. I'm thinkin' he needs a lesson in obedience.”  
”Oh fuck,” Praktash giggled and struggled to get up. Margzat advanced on him with a predatory leer. Praktash bolted for the woods but did not get far; Margzat tackled him at the edge of camp, grabbed his leg and dragged him back. Praktash laughed as he kicked and struggled to get free.  
”'Zaaat! I was just jokin', no need to get all serious!”  
”Admittin' it, are ya?” Margzat chuckled darkly. ”'At's too bad; Was hopin' I could force it outta ya. Ah well... I'm thinkin' we'll go straight for the punishment, then.”  
Praktash chuckled nervously. ”'Zat? What're you gonna do?” When Margzat did not answer, he began to worry. The krîtar rolled him over on his belly and yanked his hips into the air. Then he reached for the armoured belt that protected Praktash's waist and unbuckled it.  
”'Zat, what the _fuck?!_ ” He looked to the only two people he trusted. ”Záhovar! Don't let him do this! It was just a joke, for fuck's sake!!” He began to struggle harder, but to no avail. Once the belt was loose, Margzat straddled the back of his thighs and barked for Draumaturz and Urkhish to hold him down. First he pulled Praktash's shirt up over his head, then he hesitated and looked to his commanding Officer for permission. Záhovar smirked as he waved her hand in a 'be my guest' motion.  
Praktash howled as Margzat wiggled his claws along the unprotected sides of his waist. The krîtar continued to tickle him until he was crying and laughing at the same time, squealing and yowling. He finished it off with a hard slap on his exposed rear.  
”I hate you,” Praktash murmured as he tightened his belt.  
”Take it like an Uruk, Bukrazikh. Gotta keep some measure o' discipline in this pack; you've all grown soft from loungin' about in Rhûn.”  
  
Graznikh had soon finished his supper but felt too restless to sleep, so he volunteered for first watch. He climbed a crooked tree and crouched on a thick bough, keeping his ears pricked for spies or brigands. It felt good to be on the road again, having a goal and a purpose. Soon he heard footsteps below, too light to be anyone but Záhovar.  
”Looking for me?” he asked her quietly.  
”Yes,” she replied without looking up. ”I wanted to... I am sorry.”  
Graznikh hardly believed his ears. ”You what?”  
”I am sorry for the way I treated you in Rhûn.”  
Graznikh did not know what to reply. ”Why d'ya care?”  
”Should I not?”  
”I dunno; you're the Officer here.”  
”And you are my Lug-snaga, my most skilled fighter and advisor.”  
”Oh, so that's how it is,” he said with a smirk. ”You _need_ me, so now you're gonna sweet-talk me back to yer side, is that it?”  
”On the plains, I named you path-chooser. That is still so; I cannot do this without you.” Now she looked up at him. ”Will you not aid me?”  
”Fine, whatever. As long as ya don't try to choke me again.”  
”You have my word.”  
”For all it's worth,” Graznikh muttered.  
”Are you certain that your mind is fully your own?” Záhovar asked. ”That none of this is the rage speaking?”  
Graznikh scratched his ear. ”Nar, I don't... I don't know. I don't feel the bond at all.”  
”The spell was complex. It may be that the rage returns before the bond does.” She sighed. ”If there is anything I can do to repay you, then I will. You need but name your wish and it is yours.”  
Graznikh gave her a longing look before shaking his head. ”You can't bloody turn back time, can ya? I wish I'd gone with ya to Blog Shakâmb.”  
”Pray that you never see the inside of that place.”  
”Trust me; after what little Praktash told me, I already do.”

Lîrnash took second watch and Graznikh returned to the camp. Instead of the smaller tents they had on the road to Rhûn, they now had a large Wainrider tent made of felted wool. It was so heavy that one of the pack horses carried only that and nothing else, but sturdy enough to withstand heavy snow and the harshest of storms. It was also large enough to fit the whole group and Akûl inside.  
”Come to think of it, ya never told me how things went with that band you ran across,” Graznikh said to Sulmurz as they settled down to rest. ”Care to humour me?”  
”Ye're bloody curious 'bout my past all o' a sudden,” Sulmurz replied, but then he grinned. ”Can't say I blame ya; this is the best part.”  
”Oho?” Graznikh gave him a lopsided grin.  
”Oh, aye! Like I said, first they picked me clean. I was both starvin' and thirstin', not that they cared. So they found me near a river, diggin' a well for all I was worth. And-”  
”Hold on; a _well?_ ”  
”Yup.”  
”Weren'tcha right by a river?”  
”Aye, but I'd lived all my life gettin' told not to drink from puddles I found on the ground. T'was lodged in my backbone not to do it.” He grinned as Graznikh and several of the others began to laugh. ”I know, right? Stupid as all fuck! An' that's how that band found me; wanna wager on 'em laughin' too?”  
”Don't need to,” Ghakû chuckled. ”I recall it all too clear.”  
”You were there?” Graznikh asked, chuckling as he nodded.  
”Aye. Tîmurz thought he was daft, but Graturz just wouldn't drop 'im. Strongheaded, that lass.”  
”Strong-armed too,” Sulmurz added. ”An' hell-bent on gettin' on whatever's in my pants.”  
Ghakû laughed out loud. ”Remember when Fraukanak thought ya were too slow? Graturz had ya down and was rubbing her business right in yer face, and he thought he could just waltz in and take yer place?”  
”Aye, that kick musta had him taste his own spunk for days after!” Sulmurz snickered. ”Next I knew, she had me on my back an' my cock in her quim.”  
”What, you never took charge?” Graznikh asked.  
”Are ya crazy?! I just saw her kick a guy's nuts so hard he bloody choked on 'em! I wasn't gonna mess with _that._ ”  
”Not that he didn't try,” Ghakû said with a leer. ”'At's how he got his name, from all the filth he spewed in 'er face. Shut right up the moment she started bouncing, though.”  
”Well, I'm not stupid,” Sulmurz snarled. ”And she _liked_ it!”  
”It's all very entertainin', listening' to you braggin' 'bout your cock, but we're tryin' to sleep here,” Praktash chuckled. ”You're gonna rile us into another frenzy if you go on like that!”  
”Rile _you,_ perhaps,” Sulmurz muttered, but the Orcs eventually settled down. All was quiet but for the faint sounds of insects moving under the tent floor. No one noticed the shadow stopping briefly outside the tent, then moving on.   
  
  
The further north they came, the colder the air grew. The trees changed from bushy pines to tortured, twisted birches and thin fir trees that struggled to prick the sky. The cliffs and rocks became blackened and jagged and crumbled under every step.  
”It's funny,” Sulmurz said as he picked one up. ”These look just like the stones near Lugburz. Think the Mountain spit 'em this far?”  
”Nar,” Graznikh said. ”I doubt even that can throw rocks all this way.”  
”These stones are far older than Lugburz,” Záhovar said. ”They are all that is left of a power far older and greater than the Eye. The one that created the Eye, so to speak. And you.”  
Margzat frowned. ”I thought the Eye made us?”  
”He made the Black Uruks. Orcs in general have a far older origin.”  
Graznikh frowned but said nothing. He did not like the way the conversation was going. Nor did Záhovar, apparently, for she fell silent and would say no more on the subject.  
”Whatever your origin and whatever you were before, there is no going back. You exist, you are here, and that is all that matters. You have a place in this world, whether the tarks like it or not. Let no one tell you differently.”  
Draumaturz wanted to know more about this mysterious 'origin' but Praktash silenced him with a punch to the ribs.  
There were only a few roads leading north, but Záhovar chose to leave them as soon as they neared the border to the contested lands. There were no villages or farmsteads here, only scattered ruins of fortifications and abandoned outposts.  
One evening, they woke up to a world turned black and white.  
”What _is_ this shit?!” Sulmurz exclaimed as he peeked out of the tent and eyed the white little flakes that floated down from the sky.  
”Oh, for the everloving fuck,” Graznikh swore. ”Snow. Just what I needed!”  
”This is snow?” Praktash scooped up a handful of the white, wet substance and licked it. ”Tastes funny.”  
”Just don't eat the yellow parts,” Ghakû grinned. ”That shit's bad for ya.”  
”Why, what izzit?”  
”'S easier if I show ya.” He turned away from the tent and began to fumble with his trousers. A moment later, a steaming jet hit the snow.  
”Oooh,” Praktash said. ”That makes sense!”  
Záhovar picked up a handful of snow and slowly squeezed it between her hands. ”We are getting close. I do not think that there are spies this far south; the border has not been pushed for many years, but once we are beyond it, there is no telling what to expect.”  
They marched hard and made camp in a secluded clearing. The Uruks and Orcs piled up to stay warm, with the goblins snuggling up against Akûl. Sulmurz refused to let anyone but Záhovar spoon him and Praktash insisted on getting spooned by Margzat.  
  
The further they went, the more certain Praktash became that _something_ was wrong, but he could not put his finger on exactly what it was. No one was ill, no one was injured, they were not pursued or stalked by anything. The food and drink was good and they had shelter; there was simply nothing to worry about. Yet still he could not shake the feeling off. He kept eyeing the others discreetly as they marched along a narrow ridge that skirted a deep ravine with a white-water river at its bottom. _No one's fartin', no one's limpin'..._  
Záhovar had dismounted to avoid being brought down in case her horse stumbled on the loose rocks. _She looks to be just fine. What is it I'm missin'?_ Then he looked down and felt a chill run down his spine. _Oh fuck..!_  
They stopped for the day on a cliff overlooking the ravine. As soon as he was able, Praktash dragged Graznikh off for a serious chat.  
”She's fadin',” he hissed, barely keeping the panic out of his voice.  
”Graznikh frowned. ”What?”  
”I saw it,” Praktash whispered. ”Right there, in the snow before we stopped! She's... Buddy, she's got no footprints!”  
Graznikh let out a sigh of relief. ” _That's_ what got you all worked up? Buddy, she's _fine.”_  
”How can you say that?! Why's she not leavin' any-”  
”You've never noticed that before? Down south, when we walked on sand; no footprints. Back home when the Mountain filled the streets with ash; no footprints! She's never had any.”  
Praktash stared in bewilderment. ”But... _Everyone's_ got footprints! It's not... It's not right!”  
Graznikh lowered his voice to little more than a breath. ”Elves have no footprints.”  
Praktash gave him a look of disbelief, but did not inquire further. But he did not feel relieved; there were too many questions surrounding this old but remembered knowledge.  
  
As they made camp a week after they had crossed the border, Sulmurz suddenly spotted a strange deer coming into view within bowshot of the camp. He quietly grabbed his bow and indicated for the others to be silent. As he did so, he collided with Kraash who was of the same mind.  
”Drop it,” both hissed. Kraash tried to yank the bow out of his hands but Sulmurz shoved his face and got a hold of it. As he drew the bow, Kraash snatched the arrow off the string with a half-choked snicker.  
”Get yer paws off me!” Sulmurz snarled. He drew the bow again and aimed, only to have Kraash shove him from behind. The arrow went awry; Záhovar's horse let out a scream and broke its bonds, but did not get far before it collapsed. The camp was silent as the grave as its death throes faded.  
Záhovar slowly lifted her head; Sulmurz began to whimper incoherently but spun as Kraash bolted.  
”Ya fucking coward!” Then he turned back and looked like he was about to cry. ”'M sorry! I-I didn't... I didn't...” He squeezed his eyes shut as she stopped in front of him and ran a cold steel claw down his throat.  
”No, you did not.” She passed him and sped away in Kraash's direction.  
While Kraash was running for his life in knee-deep snow, the High Officer ran on top of it and it did not take her long to catch up. She pounced him with a wraith-like hiss; there was a strange blur where they landed and the snow seemed to explode around them; Kraash's scream of terror sent shivers down the backs of Orcs and Uruks alike.  
Záhovar got back on her feet a moment later. ”Since you have deprived me of my horse, _you_ will carry its burden from now on.”  
Kraash remained on his back in the snow for a long while, hyperventilating and staring up at the sky with wide, unseeing eyes. His only reply was a whimper.  
  
One night they came upon a ruin; a hexagon-shaped plaza of black marble that had once had a pillar at each point. It stretched out into the forest, covering a large area where the trees struggled to grow. Only one of the pillars still stood, revealing intricate reliefs that were barely visible through the moss and wear of time.  
”What was this place?” Praktash whispered. Záhovar did not answer; she was busy studying the ground and the pillar bases as if looking for something. Whatever it was, she did not find it, but returned to the Orcs looking slightly disappointed. Meanwhile, Graznikh found another ruin nearby; a building that had once been fit for housing a giant. All that was left of it was a corner, made up of square stones so large that he could not look over them even when standing on his toes. _How the fuck did they build this thing? Each o' those stones must weigh more than a troll!_ He climbed the wall to get a better look at their surroundings. Once he reached the top however, he could only stare.  
”Hey, master? You should come take a look at this.”  
She came over and climbed the ruined building, stopping beside him. She was soon staring as well. The ruin on which they stood lay on top of a high ridge. Before them was a vast ruin-filled valley, almost perfectly round, with ancient buildings of varying size scattered across the slopes. Most of them were so worn that they looked like natural rock formations, but from where they stood, the regular pattern proved that it was indeed artificial.  
”This must have been a city in ages past,” Záhovar said.  
”Think there's treasure left?” Sulmurz asked.  
”Possibly, if scavengers have not already cleaned the place.”  
”But what kinda city?” Praktash asked once he reached the top of the ruin. ”Tarks?”  
”Not tarks; they did not even exist when this was built.”  
”Musta been a quiet time for us Orcs,” Graznikh commented. Then he frowned. ”Did _Orcs_ exist when this was built?”  
”I do not know,” Záhovar replied. ”I must confess I did not invest as much time in studying architecture as I should have, but judging by the wear on the rocks, this may be First Age or even earlier. But the shape of the buildings are unlike anything I have ever seen. No Elf or Man of the West made this, that is for certain.”  
”I'm thinkin' we _have_ seen this before,” Margzat grunted quietly.  
Záhovar looked at him. ”Indeed? Where?”  
”The Crags. See 'at gate down there? Looks just like the one 'neath the desert.”  
”Err... Maybe we should just forget 'bout the treasure,” Sulmurz said. ”Don't wanna piss off another scale beast, right?”  
”I doubt that there are scale beasts here. But you are right; places like this are best left undisturbed.”  
Graznikh spotted Mikbork squatting on the far end of the ruined wall, sniffing the air and peering into the valley.  
”What is it? Whaddya smell?”  
”Smoke,” the snuffler replied.  
”Over there,” Urkhish said. ”Saw a light up the valley.”  
”Bend over a little further an' we'll be seein' the light up your valley,” Praktash snickered. Urkhish shot him a nasty leer and wiggled his rump.  
”Behave,” Záhovar murmured with a half-hidden smile.  
”Could be a settlement of some kind,” Sulmurz said.  
”Or Dachman,” Graznikh growled. ”Think we can get up there?”  
”Perhaps if we follow this ridge. Let us hope that there is a bridge or some other way to cross the river.”  
They did not get far; suddenly a downpour of freezing rain began to fall, too heavy to be held at bay by clothing alone. Graznikh cursed as he helped raise the tent; they were so close!  
The rain poured down throughout the night. The next morning, the Orcs huddled around the campfire, shivering and clutching their wet cloaks tight to keep some measure of warmth from escaping.  
”We can't go on like this,” Praktash told Záhovar through clattering teeth. ”If we don't freeze to death right away, some of us're bound to get sick sooner or later. I don't have the means to cure lungrot or the sneezes.”  
”Can'tcha set fire to something?” Zosh asked. ”Y'know; dushatâr-style.”  
”Unfortunately, fire is not within my field of expertise,” Záhovar told her. ”But Praktash is right; we cannot go on like this.” She stood to adress them all. ”We dig in and wait for better weather. If the light we saw truly below to Dachman, then he will not leave any time soon.”  
  
  
Once the clouds parted two days later, the air grew even colder. By now they had dried up somewhat, so Záhovar had them march hard. Graznikh and Mikbork scouted ahead; the forest was slowly changing, the trees growing taller but forming strange shapes, sometimes intertwining in ways that seemed almost unnatural. He stopped to take a closer look at one of them. The place _smelled_ different too, almost like...  
Mikbork suddenly bolted out of the undergrowth to Graznikh's left, eyes wide with fear. ”Enemy!” he squeaked. The next moment, the soft sound of running feet could be heard among the trees.  
”Gang up!” Graznikh shouted. ”Retreat!”  
They ran, but the hunters were too fast. The Orcs and Uruks surrounded Záhovar and shielded her from view as the little group was surrounded by warriors who seemed to blur and blend with the forest, tricking the eyes and making it hard to focus on them. Margzat roared a challenge as the leader of the enemy revealed himself, but Záhovar silenced him with a pat.  
”Hold.”  
”Golug!” Graznikh growled as the commander removed his helmet and he spotted the tell-tale pointy ears. The leader of their attackers had olive skin, slightly slanted dark green eyes and hair the colour of tarnished silver held together in a complex, twisted braid. The Elf gave him a calm, confident smile before turning to Záhovar, who had moved closer and stopped at Graznikh's side. The Elf said something none of them understood, but as Záhovar shook her head he spoke again.  
”Then perhaps you understand this?”  
”We shouldn't be speaking with golug! They're enemies, for fuck's sake!” Sulmurz hissed.  
”Shut up,” Margzat growled. He and the other Uruks were tense and ready to attack at a moment's notice, eyes darting between Záhovar and the enemy. Graznikh cursed under his breath. There would be no hiding Záhovar's origin now; despite the difference in colour, there were too many similarities between her and their enemies. Even her jagged ears, clearly visible through her dark hair, seemed more Elvish than they used to.  
”Who speaks for you?” the Elf asked.  
”I do,” Záhovar replied. ”Who are you, and why do you attack us?”  
”You are trespassing on the Empire's territory,” the commander said, ”and you carry the emblem of the Enemy. State your names and your business here!”  
”What empire?” Záhovar asked.  
The commander fell silent and gave her a calculating look. ”Do not tell me that you have never heard of the Kinn-Lai.” When Záhovar's only reply was a flat stare, he seemed surprised. ”Thaurond truly does not tell his Officers anything, does he? The Empire has been his primary opponent in this region for centuries. Things have been rather quiet lately though; you are the first spies we have caught in three years' time.”  
”Perhaps the rest have simply slipped through your grasp,” Záhovar replied with a sneer.  
The commander laughed at that. ”By all means, enter! The Empire has nothing to hide from the likes of you, even with your clumsy subterfuge. The latest decree from the capital is to let you in. After you have stated your names and business, of course.”  
”Záhovar, High Officer of Lugburz,” she replied after a moment's hesitation. ”We are searching for a Man named Dachman.”  
”A Man?” The commander frowned. ”The lesser races are not quite welcome in the Empire. But Dachman...” After a moment's thought, he looked up again. ”Perhaps you should accompany us back to the outpost.”  
Záhovar's eyes narrowed. ”You would take us prisoner?”  
The commander laughed. ”Hardly! For whatever reason would we do that? Nay, but we may have a common interest in the name you mentioned. Consider this an... invitation.”  
Now it was Záhovar's turn to frown. ”You would help an enemy with whom you are at war? And I will go nowhere without my followers.”  
”Why would we not? There is no war at the moment, is there? And your followers are welcome to... Well, follow. Choose an honour guard, if you will.”  
”Hold on golug,” Graznikh growled, unable to keep quiet any longer. ”Why the fuck would you let Orcs into your stronghold?!”  
”I am no 'golug',” the commander snapped. ”And yes, your kind is... if not welcome, at least permitted; why would you not be? We share a common ancestry, and Orcs hold full citizenship in the Empire.” He made a motion towards the stunned Orcs and their dumbfounded Officer. ”Shall we?”  
As they returned to the road, the commander sent his squad ahead, choosing instead to walk alone beside Záhovar.  
”The name is Tamró,” he said with a small bow. ”Marchwarden of Ruskârne, which is the name of this Empress-forsaken outpost, may She live forever.” He smiled a little when his company did not speak. ”And you are Záhovar... I had heard that the Shadow had disappeared from Môr Erikwa, but I did not think that it was meant in a literal sense. It would seem that I was wrong.”  
”Are all border guards this well-informed?”  
”Only if they listen to gossip as avidly as I do,” Tamró replied with an amiable smile. Then he glanced at Graznikh, who was walking on Záhovar's other side and glaring daggers at him. ”It would seem that I have angered your servant. If so, I apologise.”  
”Touch her and I'll tickle your spleen through your arse,” Graznikh growled in reply.  
”Colourful,” Tamró commented.  
”...Fifty feet in and I already hate the bastard.”  
  
The 'outpost' turned out to be more of a small town, with streets made up of an uneven mosaic of flat stone slabs, worn smooth by weather and many light feet, and a well-tended plaza with multiple winding, flourishing flower beds and several unusually large rowan trees growing in angles that provided natural reclining spots amid their branches. Graznikh had seen an Elven stronghold before, during the siege when Whin's home burned. But the similarities between the Noldorin haven and this 'Kinn-lai' settlement were few. The buildings were not the rough-hewn shacks of Mannish towns or the pinnacled little palaces of the haven, but looked more like works of nature-inspired art, with wood and stone carefully carved and crafted into flowing shapes but sparsely decorated. Every building must have taken a long time to finish and even the older, weatherworn houses looked like the wind and rain itself had been channeled to aesthetic perfection. There were living trees everywhere; some supporting the buildings, others _were_ buildings. Nature and craftmanship blended together flawlessly and were hard to tell apart. It was downright _creepy_.  
”I wonder how many villages we passed without even seeing 'em?” Graznikh muttered to Praktash who shrugged in reply.  
But after so many weeks spent trudging through the wilderness, it was good to be in a place full of life again. The sound of axes hitting wood, hammers hitting hot metal, the clatter of plates and cartwheels, the laughter and murmur of voices and the hundreds of different little scents and sounds that meant 'stronghold' hit his senses all at once. Of course, one scent permeated the air and sneaked through all others.  
”This place stinks of golug,” Kraash growled and Mikbork sneezed for the fifteenth time in as many steps. Praktash and Margzat stared all around with wide eyes. Praktash especially could not take his eyes off the Elves that seemed to be everywhere around them. The only one who seemed unphased was Ghakû.  
The more Graznikh himself looked, the more he realised that something was very, very weird about the whole place, but he could not put his claws on exactly what that weirdness was. While trying to figure it out, he began to compare it with what he knew about Whin and her people.  
These Elves were not the pale half-apparitions that he had met in battle during the raid and the siege. Somehow they were more earthly, their eyes shone but not as painfully. Their skin and hair were more earthy as well with brown, grey and and even green tones to both hair, eyes and faces. He even spotted a few with skin so dark that he could have mistaken them for being of Jí Indûr's people.  
They were also more plainly dressed. The clothes were not fancy silk or velvet but simple wool, linen or hemp, albeit finely woven and embroidered with flowing Elven motifs. _Golug commoners,_ Graznikh thought. _Who woulda known?_  
As he sniffed the air again, he found that one scent was missing; fear. None of the Elves that they passed in the streets seemed to fear the band of Orcs that had appeared in their midst, no one screamed or gasped or called out warnings to the children that played outside. There were a few wary looks and concerned frowns, but that was it.  
A group of said children had gathered at a rounded street corner to watch them. A little girl with grey eyes, delicate pointy ears and curly, hazel brown hair that had been trimmed just before it reached the ground threw a small bouquet of flowers towards them. Kraash took a step towards her, bared his fangs and growled, but instead of the expected fearful reaction the children smiled and laughed even as they ran away. The 'flower girl' did a few graceful dance steps and gave him a flourishing bow and a smile before running after the others, locks dancing in the air behind her. Graznikh couldn't help but chuckle and started a little as Praktash whispered in his ear.  
”I can see what you saw in Whin that first night, buddy.”  
Graznikh was still chuckling as he shook his head. ”She was much older than that. Skai, that cub looked too young to be walking.” Then he continued, a little louder. ”Golug cubs grow slow on the outside, but quick inside. Those coulda been 'round fifteen or thirty years old, maybe a little older.”  
”Thirty?!” Sulmurz exclaimed.  
”Mhm. I was already out raiding at that age. They grow into adults at... well, fifty's a little early. Eighty's more like it, even a hundred.”  
”Where'd ya learn so much 'bout golug?” Margzat asked.  
”Grew up with a bunch o' them for neighbours. I wouldn't call it 'peaceful coexistence' exactly, but... They weren't too bad. Had a few rare chats with one or two. The tarks were worse. Bloody cubkillers, those.”  
”Are these golug much different from... the ones you met before?” Praktash asked.  
”Aye. They haven't tried to kill us on sight, for one. Different colour, different clothes... They even move and smell different. And they're not afraid. Still Elves, only... different.”  
”These ain't golug,” Ghakû said. ”They're albai.”  
Graznikh frowned. ”Whaddya mean?”  
”Golug're from the west, beyond the Fence. Albai're from the East. You know the other diff'rences already. Or most of 'em. Albai can be as dangerous as golug, but not all. Some o' them're downright friendly to Orcs, queer as that may sound. This place belongs to one o' those tribes.”  
”And where did _you_ learn so much 'bout golug?” Sulmurz asked him. ”Or... Albai, or whatever.”  
Ghakû shrugged. ”Grew up East. Fought in the war out West. Burnt a golug city, killed a bunch.” He flashed Graznikh a grin which Graznikh returned.  
”Skai, you were a veteran when I was still wet behind the ears, ushatarkû,” Graznikh said while silently noticing that Záhovar and Tamró had stopped their conversation and were listening in on theirs. There was a barely audible gasp from the side and he quickly looked at the Elf that had made it. As he did so, he finally managed to pinpoint what it was that seemed so very out of place.  
_They're not wary of us; they're wary of_ her _!_  
  
Having a band of Orcs and Uruks trot through their streets seemed like an everyday thing to the strange 'albai', but nearly everyone they met did a double-take the moment they spotted Záhovar. She seemed to have noticed the same thing, for she kept her gaze fixed on some point straight ahead and ignored her surroundings. The more Graznikh looked, the more sure he became of it. Elves gasped, stared, backed away, some even turned their backs when they laid eyes upon her. There was horror, pity, grief and revulsion in them. _What the fuck do they see that we don't?_  
Suddenly Sulmurz gasped and bolted into one of the side streets before Graznikh could grab him, disappearing around a corner. There was a shrill scream and Graznikh let out a loud curse. He rounded the corner just in time to see Sulmurz get pummeled into the dirt by a young Orcess.  
”Yuh sick fuckin' bastard!” she roared. ”Ruinin' my laundry like 'at, I should 'ave ya sent to Zhargum for disciplinin'!”  
”Sorry 'bout that,” Graznikh said with a disarming leer as Kraash and Ghakû picked their drartul up. ”He's a li'l rough 'round the edges.” The Orcess snorted at that, but as she spotted the red Eye painted on their armour she smelled increasingly apprehensive.  
”Yuh from Erikwa?”  
”Don't know that name, but if ya mean Lugburz, then aye,” Graznikh replied.  
”Shoulda known,” she snarled as she began picking the not-so-clean laundry up from the ground. ”Every guy comin' outta that place's fuckin' crazy. Even folks from in 'ere, they go there a couple years an' they come out sick. 'At place's no good for anyone.”  
”Thowwy,” Sulmurz said and spat out some bloody phlegm along with two of his front teeth. ”Didn't mean to fthumble on yer laundwy.”  
”Don't worry, I can put those back in later,” Praktash said. ”For a price.”  
”Fuck off ya fhick bafthawd!” Sulmurz growled, sending Kraash and Ghakû into fits of laughter. ”Ye're not gedhin' clofhe to my fafhe _o'_ my arf again!”  
”Arf!!” Praktash howled and broke down from debilitating laughter. Sulmurz fell back down as Kraash collapsed; Ghakû was already leaning against the wall, gasping for air. The Orcess gave them a look like they had just confirmed her every assumption about Orcs from Lugburz and Graznikh flung his arms into the air in pretended exasperation.  
Záhovar appeared around the corner and gave them all an icy look. ”I believed that I had imposed upon you the importance of discretion,” she said, barely keeping the hiss out of her voice. ”We are _not_ here to frolick through enemy territory as if we owned the place!” She nodded to Margzat, who fondled his whip.  
”Get in line, little snaga, or you'll be wishin' ya only lost a couple teeth!”  
”My deepest apologies, Apra,” Tamró said with a bow as the krîtar ushered the snickering Orcs away.  
”Dun' worry, marchwarden,” she replied with a grin. ”I already took it outta his face.”  
”All is well, then.” He looked at Záhovar. ”Shall we continue?”

While Záhovar entered the marchwarden's office, Praktash set to work putting Sulmurz's lost teeth back in. It was difficult, not because it was a complicated process but because the other Orcs kept barking ”arf!” at him and made him explode with laughter over and over again. Kraash and Ghakû were snickering hysterically and even the two Elves guarding the entrance to the building were having trouble keeping their faces straight, even though they did not understand a word. Graznikh eventually herded the unruly Orcs out of hearing range and told Margzat to keep an eye on Praktash so that the perpetually horny Uruk would not try to take advantage of his charge. When they returned a little while later, Sulmurz sat on the office stairs with a makeshift leather contraption on his face that would keep his teeth in place while they healed and set.  
”I wook wike an idhiot,” he complained. ”Oh, come _on!_ ” he exclaimed as Praktash dove headfirst into the krîtar's lap with a yowl.  
”Maybe it'd be better if you just shut up for a while,” Graznikh remarked with a snicker. ”We need our healer in a functioning state.”  
”Whis isn'th _my_ fauwth!”  
”Aye, it is. You ran after plashnak in the first place, remember?”  
”Oh... Wight.”  
”Are ya calling her a wight? Isn't that a bit mean?”  
”I didn'th thay 'wight', I thaid wwwwight!”  
”Now, that's not right.”  
”Yeth it ith!”  
”Stoooop!!” Praktash howled. He was now laughing so hard that he was weeping.  
”Go on,” Margzat chuckled. ”He'll pass out soon from lack o' air, then I can carry him back to camp an' get dinner started.”  
  


”I know that I offered you information free of charge,” Tamró said as he offered Záhovar a chair, ”but I am afraid that things are a bit more complicated.”  
”I suspected as much,” Záhovar replied. ”We are at war, after all.”  
”At war? Sunset, no, not at all! If Lugburz and the Empire were truly at war, we would be fighting, not talking.” His eyes narrowed slightly. ”Seeing as you wear both armour and a weapon made by Kinn-Lai smiths, I would suspect that your great lord would prefer things to remain that way.”  
Záhovar hid her surprise. _So that is where they come from?_ ”And what does the 'Empire' prefer?”  
”Believe me; had we preferred war, you would have noticed it by now. But we have little interest in the West, at least as far as I know. Some trade with Dorwinion happens, but we keep a low profile for the most part.”  
_Trade? It seems the khagan's spies are not as perceptive as they think._ ”Are they Kinn-lai as well?”  
”No, they are descendants of refugees from a great war that apparently destroyed their homeland. I would not ask them about it if I were you; it is a sensitive subject.”  
”And Dachman..?”  
”Dachman, Dachman...” Tamró rose from his chair and began to search a bookcase. ”Was it... Five years ago? I think it was. All of the outposts received orders to look out for a thief, and the name 'Dachman' figured in those orders. But I am unsure of _why_ he figured there _._ Ah!” He shone up and pulled a small book from the bookcase. ”Here it is. Let me see...” As he began to flip through the pages, he frowned again, deeper this time. ”What..?”  
”Something amiss?” Záhovar asked.  
Tamró fidgeted a bit. ”There are pages missing. Several weeks' worth of notes have been cut out!” He closed the book with a sigh. ”I fear that aiding you will be a little more complicated and time-consuming than I first thought. There are copies of these notes in the main archive in the capital, but sending for them and having them delivered here will take time... Time which you do not have, I assume.”  
”You assume correctly. But I have already found my quarry; you need not worry about him for much longer.”  
”Indeed? May I ask _where_ you have found him?”  
”There is an old ruin west of here. I-”  
”No.” Tamró wagged a finger. ”Those ruins are sealed off for a reason! I will not have you disturb them, no matter how urgent the cause!”  
”Dachman may have done so already! I have no interest in the ruins as such, and will leave as quickly and quietly as he allows me to.”  
Tamró stared out the window with a deep frown. ”The perimeter is constantly patrolled; if he crossed, I would have known.”  
”He is a sorcerer of great strength. Unless your patrols are the same, they cannot pierce his illusions. I can. If the place is as dangerous as you say, all the more reason to let me capture him. The sooner, the better for both of us!”  
Tamró did not answer at first; he seemed deep in thought. ”I will take your request into consideration,” he said slowly, ”but the decision is not altogether mine to make. You are free to remain here as my guest or set your encampment outside, whatever you prefer. I should have an answer for you by the end of the week.”  
”I have spent months already,” Záhovar said as she stood. ”By the end of the week I may be too late. But... I have little choice. I shall call upon you when the time comes.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is one of those parts of the story where I've gone 'should I really go there?' several times over. One part of Silmarillion always intrigued me though, and that is when the Elves meet the first Orcs. Did any of them recognise family or loved ones in those distorted faces? How did they react? Were any attempts ever made to redeem them? This is pretty much my take on that 'what if'-moment. The Kinn-Lai are one of the six Avari tribes named by Tolkien, and in this story they are a dark equivalent of the Noldor. I will write at length about both Kinn-Lai and Dorwinians on the Tumblr blog later on.


	25. Eternity Is Not Enough

”I'm thinkin' I don't like this,” Margzat muttered as they returned to the others. While they were gone, the tent had been raised and a fire was crackling outside.  
”I don't think we woulda liked it more if we'd walked right into the place,” Praktash said.  
”Nar, but... I can't shake it off. Feels like we're bein' watched.”  
”That's 'cause we are. Y'think they'd just let us go? Nar, there're probably eyes in every tree.” He chuckled as Margzat threw a suspicious look at the nearest spruce. ”Chin up, it could be worse! At least we _know_ they're watchin'.”  
Margzat gave him a lopsided grin. ”No bats here, eh?”  
”Shut up.”

The kritar kept chuckling as they sat down by the fire.  
”Why didn'tcha put the fire inside the tent?” Praktash asked Golnauk.  
”'Cause I wanna see what kills me,” the old Uruk growled.  
”They haven't killed us yet.”  
”Doesn't mean they won't,” Ghakû groaned as he sat down and began to pull his boots off.  
”I though you said these albai didn't mind Orcs? An' you saw there were Orcs in there.”  
”Don't mind, true. Won't kill? Not so much. As for the Orcs, let's just say they're not the regular kind.”  
”She looked regular to me.”  
”There's something off goin' on here,” Urkhish half-whispered.  
”Like what?” Draumaturz asked.  
”Like... There're no tracks. No scents. We didn't catch a glimpse o' those Elves afore they were right on us.”  
”Like you've never set an ambush before? Folks walk into each other all the time!”  
”They got no footprints,” Mûrnaluzh mused, seemingly deep in thought.  
”So?” Ghrazagh asked.  
”The 'Lug-durbatar' has none either.”  
Suddenly all eyes were on Praktash.  
”That's 'cause she's a half-wraith,” Praktash replied, fervently hoping that they would take the bait.  
”I've heard that Elves're half-wraiths too.”  
”What? That's stupid!”  
”Then why couldn't we see 'em when they were all around us? Yer 'Lug-durbatar' did the same, back in that swamp; first she was right there, next she wasn't. 'At's a bit suspicious, don'tcha think?”  
”Hold on now,” Margzat rumbled and interrupted Praktash as he began to voice a protest. ”Ye're sayin' 'at the Eye wouldn't spot an Elf standin' right in front o' Him? I'm thinkin' 'at's real close to rebel talk, right there.”  
”I'm just sayin' it's suspicious, is all. Don'tcha think?”  
”I've seen the dushatari bind wraights in Blog Shakâmb,” Golnauk said. ”Sometimes they make wights; take a dead body and put a wraith inside it. Maybe she's like that? Elven body but not an Elf inside?”  
Praktash pointed at Golnauk. ”See? That's how smart folks use their brains!”  
”Arright,” Margzat said loudly. ”Break the chitchat an' go fetch the rations. It's supper time!”  
  


  
”You can't be serious,” Graznikh growled much later after Záhovar had recounted her meeting with the marchwarden. ”It's obvious that they're in league with Dachman!”  
”It is not,” Záhovar replied. ”The marchwarden's concern was genuine, as was the book that had been tampered with. We can only wait.”  
”So what now?” Praktash asked. ”We just sit here an' twiddle our dicks?”  
”Of course not. The marchwarden has granted us access to the larder. You will go there and have a look around. And we know that there are Orcs here; see if you cannot loosen their tongues somehow. Offer them whatever price you deem necessary, but none that sounds too good to be true.”  
”I know how it's done,” Graznikh replied.  
The larder was difficult to find. There were no straight lines like in Mannish settlements, and the Elves proved frustratingly incapable of giving coherent directions, so Graznikh spent nearly a full toll wandering the streets before he stumbled upon the place. 'Larder' did not quite suffice to describe it; sure, there were numerous elaborately decorated buildings which were no doubt food storage, but there was also something remotely akin to the pavilions in Rhûn; a large open space beneath a canopy of intertwined willow branches where the locals gathered for a drink and some socialising. The tender of the place gave him a dandy glance as he entered and a few of the Elves gave him a wide berth, as though 'Orc' was a contagious illness. The 'drinks' proved equally unsatisfying; most were simply fruit or berry juices. Eventually he asked for some wine and eyed the room for anything even remotely resembling one of his own kind as he sat down on a large root.  
”Do not judge them too harshly,” a smooth voice said behind him. Graznikh gave the stranger a disinterested glance only to nearly jump out of his skin; 'remotely resembling an Orc' had just walked up and said 'hi'.  
The stranger's face was completely smooth, with finely chiseled features and his posture was straight; if not for his slightly gnarly nose, pointed ears and clawed hands he could have passed for an oddly coloured Man. His hair was silvery white and felted into thin, ropelike tresses and his narrow, slanted eyes were a pale yellow. Despite this, he looked nothing like Praktash; the redhead Uruk had a solid feel to him that this wispy creature did not.  
”Well, don't you look creepy as all shit,” Graznikh muttered.  
The stranger only laughed. ”How I have missed the straightforwardness of Orcs! You do your kind credit.”  
”Don't tell me you came up just to get insulted.”  
”Not at all. I could not help but notice your forlorn face in the streets earlier and followed you. You are in the wrong place if you want a strong drink.”  
”And where would I get that, if I wanted one?”  
The stranger smiled. ”Follow me.”  
On the outskirts of town, beneath one of the large rowan trees, was a large burrow that was easily recognisable by the crude ale barrel hanging above the entrance. Here Graznikh finally got his hands on some decent ale, one of the better he had tasted.  
”Now _that's_ more like it! Why can't Elves drink normal stuff like this instead o' berry-blood?”  
The stranger laughed. ”Berry-blood... You are quite the jester! Do you have a name?”  
”Graznikh. What of you?”  
”I am Dînhoth. Pleased to meet you.”  
”So what are you? Some kinda dark Elf?”  
Dînhoth shook his head. ”By Mailikô, no! I am one of the Miniia Mi-srawanwe, more commonly known as simply Miniia or by the derogative naukâ. I am not sure how to translate these words without disturbing your no doubt delicate senses.”  
”I'm a big boy, I can take it,” Graznikh grunted. ”Just spit it out.”  
”Very well. I am a half-Elf. Or half-Orc, whichever you prefer.”  
Graznikh chuckled and downed the last of his drink. Then he spun to punch him in the face, but Dînhoth was too fast. He deflected his fist with ease and his palm connected with Graznikh's chest so hard that he lost his breath for several moments, despite the armour.  
”I'd advise you to take care where you aim those fists.” He returned to calmly sipping his drink while waiting for Graznikh's voice to return.  
”That ain't fucking possible!” Graznikh growled once he breathed somewhat normally again. ”You're telling me yer mommy got fucked by an Orc and spawned _you_? Elves die when you fuck 'em!”  
Dînhoth chuckled. ”No, my _mother_ had a tryst with an Elven _man_. And it was entirely consensual, might I add.” He smiled lightly at Graznikh's incredulous scowl. ”Did the good marchwarden tell you nothing? This isn't the West where everyone lives separated in their own little enclaves and spend their time thinking they're better than whatever dwells outside their fancy walls! This is the Empire; Orcs are as much 'Avari' as the softskins.” He frowned a little. ”Of course, we're still treated like shit out here in the provinces. Too many westerners; the Elves here pity us more than they accept us. The attitudes in the capital are far more relaxed, or so I've heard.”  
Graznikh kept staring at Dînhoth as he spoke. _Half-blood. Half Elf, half Orc. So it_ is _possible, even though it's the other way around. If I'd gotten the time to talk Whin into it, could we have had..? Nar. That time's over'n done with. No use thinking 'bout it, it'll only give me more pointless pain._  
”So where do you hail from?” Dînhoth asked, breaking him out of his reverie. ”Though your dialect is Erikwan, I do detect something a bit more foreign in there every now and then.”  
”Dunland, way out West. Was a raider when a war got inbetween me and my intended target. Followed the army back to Lugburz and that's the way it is.”  
”What's the West like?”  
Graznikh chuckled. ”Fewer Elves, more tarks. Warmer, less sleet. No aurochs though.”  
”Ah yes, the Kine,” Dînhoth chuckled. ”My mother's folk do seem absolutely fascinated with them.”  
”They're bloody delicious,” Graznikh purred.  
”If you had that in Lugburz, I doubt the meat was fresh. Salted or dried, it's nothing compared to a fresh kill. The hunt itself is a thrill as well; they're extremely aggressive and will attack rather than run. All of them belong to the Empress's – may She live forever – herds though, so no poaching allowed.”  
”Oh, fuck _you_!” Graznikh exclaimed, and Dînhoth laughed out loud. ”I'll never get the chance or permit to go aurochs-hunting anyway; why bloody torment me?”  
”Because I try to uphold my sweet mother's legacy as a lust-murdering monster,” Dînhoth leered. ”But then again, your master is an esteemed enemy-made-guest. Perhaps 'he' could get you a permit?”  
Graznikh made a disappointed wince. ”That'd never happen.”  
”Fallen out of favour, have we?” As Graznikh nodded, Dînhoth gave him a thoughtful glance.  
  
”So what's life like here?” Graznikh asked. ”Before we walked into that ambush back there, I had no idea there were Elves out here.”  
”From down where I stand, life is fairly good. All citizens are entitled to shelter and food, including Orcs; if you want furniture, clothes or more luxurious things, you barter for them, either with services or goods. Theft and open violence is frowned upon, but other than that and the blatant scorn we suffer from the higher-ups it is a fairly relaxed place to live in.”  
”What about hidden violence?” Graznikh asked with a lopsided grin.  
”Mostly legal and, among the nobility, sanctioned, as long as it does not escalate into open war. But Orcs and Miniia have precious few reasons to get involved in the Conflict, so I am not all that familiar with the details.”  
”'Conflict'?”  
”Yes, more formally known as The Conflict Eternal. The Kinn-Lai nobility is very much a case of 'survival of the fittest'; covert threats, espionage and such has been a part of Imperial high politics for almost as long as the Empire has existed. The Empress – may She live forever – supports it because it ensures that only the strongest and most capable hold seats in Her council.”  
”Sounds like Lugburz,” Graznikh muttered. ”Only less murdering. Why d'ya keep calling her that, by the way? 'May she live forever'?”  
”Because if you do not, you are either a very ignorant and suspect foreigner or, in the case of a citizen, eligible to stand trial for high treason. It is a way to show support for Her, and since She _is_ the Empire, not supporting Her is treason.”  
”How d'ya know that folks aren't just saying that to save their skin? Words're no proof of loyalty.”  
”Of course not, but it weeds out open rebellion fairly easily. The moment people start dropping the add-on, you know things will soon get bloody.”  
”Elves'n bloody rebellion? That's a thing?”  
”From what I hear, that was how it all began. But you'd better speak with a real scholar if you want to hear about the origin of the Empire. I am, after all, only Miniia.”  
”Rub it in, will ya?” Graznikh grumbled, making Dînhoth laugh again.  
”Do you have a problem with me? Other than the obvious 'eww Orc-Elf rut, that's disgusting'?”  
”I don't know about that... rutted my fair share of Elves in my time.”  
”Indeed..?” The appreciative look and inviting smile Dînhoth gave him told Graznikh exactly where the half-blood's preferences lay.  
”Sorry; I might've been interested, but there's enough karkû in my life as it is.”  
”Uruks, I take it?”  
”Aye, just the one. But he's more than enough.” He winced as he put the mug down and stood. ”Feel free to come visit the camp some night. Could show ya what real ale tastes like.”  
”I might,” Dînhoth replied with a lopsided smile, ”some night. Good luck to you!”

  
Záhovar returned to the marchwarden's office after a few days. She did not know how long a week was by Elven reckoning, but she was growing frustrated with waiting so she decided to take her chances.  
”Have you spoken to your superiors yet? What do they say?”  
”They are concerned about your motives,” Tamró replied with an apologetic expression. ”I know that you said that your time is short, but... Perhaps if you travelled to Keirhinith and spoke to them yourself-”  
”Dachman does not care for rules and permission!” she snapped. ”And nor do I! While your 'superiors' bicker, Void knows what he could unleash! If you intend to stand in my way-”  
”No! No,” he said and held up a hand to stop her as she threateningly took a step towards him. ”No, I will not. On my head be the consequences, then.”  
”Clever Elf,” Záhovar hissed and turned to leave.  
”Wait!” Záhovar stopped in the doorway and gave him a blank look. Tamró stood and walked up to her. ”My lady... Will you not remain here?”  
Záhovar arched an eyebrow, but did not reply.  
”You could be free of him if you did,” Tamró continued. ”The rupture within you, our healers could seal it, if given time! You need not be a slave.”  
Záhovar eyed the Elf in silence for a long while before answering. ”So long as I remain within the confines of this world, I will never be free. There is no choice here.” Then she left.

The moment after she had disappeared through the door, Tamró turned to face the veiled man who had been standing behind the curtain covering the entrance to a nearby room.  
”I thank you for summoning me,” Eälaion whispered. ”This was... I cannot say 'good to hear' but... It helped.”  
”And I thank _you_ for warning me. By the Wind, I never thought to face something like this in my own office!”  
”It is a burden you should not have to bear,” Eälaion agreed. ”Still, I implore you; help her. I know it is dangerous, but... help her. If she falls, others might follow.”  
”I know...”  
”Where is the Miniia?”  
”I have not seen him in a while. You how restless they are.”  
”Find him. He may prove important.”  
” I will.”  
  
  
Shortly after Záhovar had returned to the camp, a messenger arrived and told her that the marchwarden offered her and her following free use of one of the empty houses in the northern part of town. After a short discussion with Graznikh and Margzat, who was in charge of camp security, she accepted. There were a lot of onlookers as the whole group of Orcs and Uruks moved through the Elven settlement.  
”Well, now everyone knows where to find us if they wanna kill us,” Graznikh commented.  
”They didh tha' befowe we came hewe,” Sulmurz replied. Graznikh gave him an odd look and shook his head. ”Wha'?”  
”Will you shut up, Sully?” Praktash snickered. ”No one understands ya anyway!”  
”Yuh shaddap, Uwuk!” Sulmurz growled, then he groaned as Praktash, Draumaturz and Urkhish collapsed in a corner.  
  
The guesthouse they had been granted was wrought of both stone and living wood; the walls followed the branches of the many trees that made up the outer walls, and the doorways were covered by soft wool curtains in earthy tones. There were no sharp corners or edges anywhere; even the floor was uneven. It mattered little; all the furniture had been grown out of the floor itself. There were no windows or fireplaces anywhere, yet even so the house seemed to radiate heat that made the Orcs' heavy outer clothing unnecessary. Once everyone had settled down, Praktash took the opportunity to check on wounds and other discomforts.  
Záhovar had claimed one of the larger bedrooms and explored it while the others were distracted. The mattress of the bed seemed to be some kind of velvety moss; she found herself wondering if it ever needed water. Whatever the case was, it was the most comfortable bed she had ever experienced and soon she was half asleep. _I am so weary... even my bones ache. I did not think that I would miss home so much, but I do. Or... do I?_ She frowned as she hugged the thick down-filled linen duvet. She was not sure that she truly missed Lugburz; the place was dark and cold and there were many things not worthy of her longing. But she missed... something.  
A faint sound caught her attention and she sat up straight, shadows already wavering in the corners of the room. A hooded figure crouched in the open window and landed on the floor with fleeting moves.  
”My lord Officer,” the hooded one said with a flourishing bow. As he removed his hood, Graznikh barged in with a growl but stopped short when he saw that it was Dînhoth.  
”I have come before you to-... Ah..!” His yellow eyes widened as he laid them upon Záhovar's cold face. For a moment he stared, speechless, before he found his voice again and bowed. ”I apologise for my rudeness! Your servant spoke not a word of your beauty and I... I find myself at a loss for words! Forgive me.”  
”Oh, you sweet-talking bastard..!” Graznikh muttered.  
”Who are you, and what are you doing here?” Záhovar asked.  
Dînhoth straightened up and cleared his throat. ”I have come because your servant and I conversed the other day, and he mentioned that you are searching for someone. I wish to offer you my service and lend my efforts to this cause, if you will have me. I am quite proficient at finding people, as well as bringing them to inconspicuous justice, should the need arise.”  
Nothing in Záhovar's face or voice betrayed her thoughts on Graznikh's failure to keep quiet or the unexpected intrusion. ”Think you that I would leave on a search like this without skilled auxiliaries? Why should I need you, or indeed even trust you? This task does not concern you.”  
”Skilled they may be, but are they familiar with the finer points of Kinn-Lai society? The Man you hunt have walked through our community undiscovered by official security forces, so he clearly does. Or at least his accomplices do.”  
The direct glare Záhovar gave Graznikh made the pale Orc swallow hard. ”I didn't say shit 'bout that!”  
”You need not trouble your fair mistress with excuses,” Dînhoth said. ”I saw you arrive and listened in on her conversation with the good marchwarden. Eavesdropping is something of a specialty of mine, and you rarely go far in my line of business without having some forward information.”  
”Back the fuck off a moment,” Graznikh growled. ”You bloody up and told me to my face that you're an assassin! You might as well be sent by the guy we hunt! Why the fuck should I not just kill ya here'n now?”  
”You are of course entitled to try,” Dînhoth said with a confident little smirk. ”But if such be the case, would you not rather have me nearby, where you can keep an eye or five on me, rather than in the shadows where I could lay Mailikô knows what horrible traps in your path?” He gave Záhovar a telling nod.  
”Don't fall for this shit,” Graznikh told her. ”This is the oldest plot in history; get in good with the victim, earn their trust, then stab 'em in the back when they're comfortable and unsuspecting.”  
She arched an eyebrow. ”Since when did you become proficient in assassination techniques?”  
”Read a book 'bout it back in Lugburz. Got it from Praktash.”  
The other eyebrow followed the first. ” _You_ read a _book_?”  
”Oh, come on! T'wasn't that bloody fun to sit and wait while you were busy on meetings'n audiences'n shit! I had to make time pass somehow, and you can only do so much sparring and crafting and knife-sharpening afore that gets boring too.” Then he cursed. ”Okay, where the _fuck_ did he go now?!”  
Graznikh rushed over to the window, but Dînhoth was nowhere to be found. But there was a note stuck to the windowsill with a throwing dart, written in flawless Maushur script.

” _Lord Officer,_

_I trust that Graznikh will find this, seeing as he is a most perceptive fellow and you are lucky to have him in your company. Should you decide to take me up on my offer, go to the tavern at the Wainwright's Corner by the morrow at eve and ask for the third drink on the menu, literally._

_Your humble servant,  
Dînhoth”_

”Don't tell me you buy this,” Graznikh pleaded as Záhovar read the note. ”This is painfully obvious.”  
”That in itself makes me hesitate,” she murmured. ”The previous attempts to waylay us were far more complex.”  
”Maybe they were complex just so you'd get less suspicious when the real attempt to kill ya hits you in the face?”  
Záhovar smirked. ”Are you saying that the previous attempts to murder me were only our quarry's way of warming up?”  
”You never know,” Graznikh said with a shrug.  
”Hmm...” She thought for a moment. ”Let us return to the uzhâk. I would prefer to ponder this turn of events over dinner.”  
”Aye, with the way Margzat guards that pot there's no way anyone could ever stick poison into it. And if they do, all we hafta do is round up the populace'n check for ladle-shaped bruises on their hands.”  
He watched her attempt to rise, but then she fell back down on the bed with a sigh.  
”What's wrong?”  
”I am so weary... Perhaps I shall pass on dinner tonight and rest instead.” She looked up at him and understood. ”I miss you,” she whispered.  
Graznikh swallowed hard. ”You... What?”  
Záhovar closed her eyes. ”I tried so hard to be cold, to grow ruthless as is expected of me. But now I find that there are things I regret, things I cannot hide from like I used to.”  
Graznikh could almost feel the collar tighten around his neck as he crawled closer. But soon he laid on the soft bed with her head resting on his shoulder, her arm flung across his chest. Moments later, she was asleep.  
Suddenly there was a merry ruckus from outside and Praktash stuck his head in.  
”Hey, buddy!! Did y'know... Oh!”  
Graznikh gave him a fond smirk and nodded towards Záhovar's slack face.  
”Oh,” Praktash whispered and gave him a happy leer. Then he untied the curtain and snuck back out.  
Graznikh was nowhere near sleepy, so after a while of bliss he tucked his sleeping mistress in and joined the others. Praktash caught him from behind and after some growling and playfighting, they were snuggled up together in another bed. This room was smaller but had four beds, one on top of the other on opposite walls. Sulmurz, Kraash and Ghakû were sleeping in the other three.  
”I take it you two had some makin' up to do?” Praktash whispered and nibbled his ear.  
”Not sure,” Graznikh replied with a happy sigh, ”but it's a step in the right direction at least. She said she missed me.”  
”That's all?”  
”It's enough for me, for now.”  
”Alright. As long as you're not yellin' or tryin' to kill each other.”  
”Not if I can avoid. I've had enough o' that to last me a bloody lifetime.”  
  
  
The next morning brought frost, but inside the house all was warm and cozy. Graznikh quietly told Praktash, Margzat and Sulmurz what had transpired the previous evening and his suspicions about Dînhoth's possible allegiances.  
”Well, that's easy to find out,” Praktash said. ”Have the snufflers track him down an' haul him in for questionin'.”  
”It's not that easy,” Graznikh said. ”We're surrounded by Elves, and as far from it as he looks, he's one of 'em. We can't go poking the wasps' nest willy-nilly, that'll only get us stung and worse.”  
”I'm thinkin' a strategy like what we used in 'at trade stop down south's in order,” Margzat mused.  
”Did we even _have_ a strategy? From where I stood, it was all chaos.”  
”Buddy... _You_ were the one who came up with it.”  
”...I did?”  
”Yes!”  
”Sod off, I can't remember everything! Fine; some of us go to that meeting-trap, some others do... something.”  
”That's... not exactly a plan.”  
”Got a better one?”  
”Now now buddy, don't be grumpy! You go to that meetin', bring some others along if ya wanna. I take Mickey an' try to find where he's holed up; there's bound to be some sign of who he's workin' for, if anyone.”  
Graznikh nodded. ”Sounds good. Sulmurz, you come with me. We don't wanna scare him off.”

Graznikh and Sulmurz left after breakfast. Praktash had just finished peeing out in the garden when Draumaturz appeared.  
”Come to sneak a peek? If so, you're not all that discreet about it.”  
”Might've,” Draumaturz leered. But then he grew serious. ”Nar, I just couldn't keep from listening on ya back there. You're going after some guy, aren'tcha?”  
”What of it?”  
”I figure... If we're not able to catch _him,_ we might be able to catch his hideout. Should have one; they tend to dabble in poisons and stuff.”  
”That's my plan, yeah. Wait; are you callin' me an assassin?”  
”Well, you can't say 'assassin' without 'sass', now can ya?” Draumaturz snickered as Praktash punched him.  
”So why d'you bother? I can handle poisons just fine.”  
”Aye, but there're other ways to kill what doesn't involve poison. Whaddya know 'bout traps?”  
Praktash frowned thoughtfully. ”Traps? Not much. You do?”  
Draumaturz nodded as he yanked his loincloth aside and aimed against a vibrantly blooming bush. ”A string in the right place can be enough to kill ya. I could help ya find 'em, and more. Take it or leave it.”  
”Alright, you're in.” He eyed the house while Draumaturz defiled the bush. Once he was done, they called for Mikbork and set out. The sun had set not long ago and there were still a few Elves out in the streets, so the Uruks and snuffler tried to look casual, like they were just out for a stroll to look at the town. Mikbork ran back and forth, sniffing at things while trying not to sneeze every time he got too close to an Elf. The 'albai' kept their distance from the Uruks; they seemed to think them a far greater threat now that they were alone. But they could walk about unharassed, for which Praktash was grateful; he had no idea how to talk to an Elf or even if they would understand him if he tried.  
Mikbork suddenly returned. ”There's a funny scent over there,” he chirped before scurrying off again. That was the code they had agreed upon before leaving and meant that he had picked up the stranger's trail.

Soon they found themselves in the Orc quarter.  
”Why am I not surprised,” Draumaturz muttered.  
It was the strangest place the Uruks had ever seen; Elven treehomes and burrows formed a labyrinth both above and below ground, with giant roots and branches forming causeways and bridges above their heads.  
”This place is creepy as shit,” Draumaturz whispered.  
”I dunno,” Praktash whispered back. ”Is your shit creepy?”  
Draumaturz stared at him for a moment, then bared his fangs in a grin.  
The place looked deserted, but Praktash thought he caught a glimpse of eyes in a window. Suddenly Mikbork stopped. He sniffed a root, then his brow furrowed as he pondered what he had found.  
”What's up, Mickey?” Praktash asked.  
Mikbork sniffed again and shook his head. ”The trail jus' stops. Nothing here.”  
”He can't bloody take wing, can he? Sniff around, find the trail.” Mikbork obeyed and Praktash turned to Draumaturz. ”Whaddya think?”  
”I'd wager...” He thought for a while. ”Aye, that must be it. Snuffler! Get back 'ere.”  
”Back'n forth, back'n forth,” Mikbork muttered.  
”Don't search for the trail,” Draumaturz said slowly. ”Search for where there's no trail at all.”  
Both Mikbork and Praktash gave him a blank stare.  
”Now he's gone daft for real, inn'e?” Mikbork asked.  
”I gotta say I'm with snaga here,” Praktash said. ”Care to explain?”  
”I've heard it mentioned, but never seen or sniffed it myself; there's something, liquid or salve or whatever, what removes scents. If you put it on yer skin, you'll leave no trace o' a scent to follow. So I figured, if he's usin' that, then searching for where there's no scent at all might lead us right.”  
”A scent-maskin' salve? That's amazin'!”  
”Keep yer voice down, you wanna drag the Elves down on us?!”  
”What I wouldn't give to get my hands on somethin' like that... Anyway, let's move on.”  
Now that their snuffler had a trail, or rather the lack of one, to follow, finding Dînhoth's hideout was easy. The entrance was not far from the house they resided in, hidden beneath a large root.  
”Wait,” Draumaturz said as Praktash reached for the door. ”It might be trapped.”  
”Trapped? Y'sure?”  
”Nar, but better safe than sorry. Keep watch'n gimme a moment.” He began to examine the doorframe, following the crack where the door fitted with a claw. When he found nothing, he began to test the handle. Then he snorted. ”Aye, there's a string stuck to th' handle alright. Snuffler! Pull it open; Praktash, get outta the way.”  
”Why me?” Mikbork squeaked. ”'M not gonna kill myself for some-” He squeaked again as Draumaturz caught him by the neck and pulled him close.  
”Shut up an' listen,” Draumaturz growled. ”That dart's probably aimed for someone o' our size, or the size o' an Elf. You're too small to get hit, so you'll trigger it for us. Got it?”  
”Probably?!” Mikbork gave him a very reluctant look and glanced at Praktash.  
”Y'know; that does sound kinda smart,” Praktash said. ”An' _if_ he's wrong an' you get hit, I probably got the antidote somewhere. No worries Mickey, you'll be fine!”  
Mikbork swallowed hard. The Uruks sneaked out of the way and pretended to look casual while the snuffler inched up to the door. After a few nervous glances, Mikbork poked the door and squatted with his arms over his head. Praktash rolled his eyes. When nothing happened, Mikbork slowly straightened up again. He poked the handle, then pulled on it after jumping to reach it. There was a whizzing sound as the trap sprung; the dart flew well above his head and hit a nearby tree. Praktash took the dart and placed it in a belt pocket for later examination before entering the little burrow. Draumaturz grabbed his arm as he was about to step down the stairs; as Praktash took a closer look, he found that the whole place was cobwebbed with trap-strings. He gingerly stepped back out.  
”How the fuck do we get in there?”  
”We gotta be careful,” Draumaturz whispered back. ”I'll disarm 'em, then-”  
A little giggle made both Uruks look down. Mikbork was holding a branch with an insane grin on his face. Then he tossed it into the burrow. From inside came a sound as if someone had taken one of those stringed instruments that Praktash had seen in Rhûn and smashed it against a rock, accompanied by that of shattering pottery and darts hitting wood.  
”...Or we destroy the place,” Draumaturz finished. ”That works too.”  
  
They hurried inside and began to search. There was a surprisingly large collection of boxes, baskets, trays, jars, buckets and other containers, no doubt assembled to make it harder to find stuff.  
”This guy sure knows what he's doing,” Draumaturz muttered. ”Find anything?”  
”I found _somethin'_ ” Praktash replied, ”but fuck me if I know what it is.” He sniffed the hard little dark brown cube. ”Doesn't smell like anythin' special.”  
Mikbork took one whiff, then his eyes grew round. ”Izz the foamy stuff! From Thaurband!”  
Praktash stared at him. ” _This_ is Nightfoam?!” He turned the cube over in his hand as Mibkork nodded. ”But then...” His eyes slowly grew dark with anger. ”Search for papers! Or parchment, leather with written text, anythin'!”  
They returned to digging through the containers. Mikbork took a spoon and began to tap the walls and floor in case there were hidden lockers there. Draumaturz turned over furniture and Praktash broke floorboards.  
”'Ere!” Mikbork called. When the Uruks joined him in the little alcove, he held up a fistful of crumpled parchment rolls. Praktash unrolled them; his eyes slowly narrowed as he read.  
”What's it say?” Draumaturz asked.  
”...We gotta get back to Záhovar! Now! _Run!!_ ”  
  
  
While her snaga were away, Záhovar tried to keep herself occupied. There was a large, wellstocked bookcase in one room, but the writing was unfamiliar to her so she could not read. After meditating on the task at hand, going through the mental exercises required before attempting sorcery and sorting the contents of her bags, she ran out of things to do. After fidgeting for a while, she took to the streets. The little Elven town was not as busy as it had been the day she arrived there, for which she was glad. Fewer eyes meant fewer appalled looks; she had had enough of those during her time at the bottom of the High Officers' hierarchy.  
Tamró's words troubled her more than she was willing to give him credit for. _'Rupture', he said. What rupture? I need no healing, I am not broken!_ After some time she began to feel watched, but even though she hid behind corners and turned around unexpectedly she found no one following her. _Could it be that white-haired one? He seemed the stealthy type._  
In the northeast part of town, a small river, wide but shallow, wound through the trees. Ice had formed around the rocks and along the shores and glittered in the low sun. Záhovar sat down on a rock and watched the spectacle when she was suddenly ambushed by the one who had followed her; it turned out to be a cat. After the first startle she paid it little heed, but after taking a stroll along the riverbank it soon returned and sat down on the rock beside her.  
  
Záhovar had seen cats before, both in Khand and Rhûn. This one differed from the others though, and not only for its size even though it was the largest she had ever seen. It had a thick, wavy coat the colour of dried blood and as it gave her a solemn look, its eyes sent a chill down her spine; judging by their colour, it could have been the Dark Lord Himself sitting beside her.  
”Ah, so the jewel has finally decided to leave her crude casing.” Záhovar started again and cursed herself for being so easily distracted.  
”I apologize,” Tamró said with a nod. ”I did not mean to startle you.”  
”Apology accepted,” Záhovar murmured.  
The tomcat mewled and Tamró bowed before it with a smile. ”And greetings to you too, Tevildo. I see you have already acquainted yourself with our troubled guest of honour.”  
”And what makes you presume that I am troubled?”  
”Only that I saw you near the town square earlier, looking as though you were being chased by something. If there is anything I can do to help you, I will.”  
”I have been hunted ever since I left Lugburz,” Záhovar snapped as she stood. ”And I would be foolish to assume that the hunters have simply abandoned their target. Indeed it was foolish of me to go here without my Lug-snaga.”  
”My lady,” Tamró murmured with a concerned expression. ”I did not mean to offend you. I apologise for my brashness earlier; it was unbecoming of me. These borders are as safe as can be; you have nothing to fear here, I assure you.”  
”Do you truly think that I have not heard those exact words over and over? They usually come before someone makes another attempt on my life. Nay, I feel no fear here, no more than I do anywhere else, Lugburz included. If you mean to convince me to let my guard down, I must inform you that your effort is wasted.”  
”Would you not let me try?”  
”There is no time. I have a quarry to hunt. Besides, your people do not want me here. Nay, do not shake your head! I am not blind to looks nor deaf to whispers behind my back. Keep your misplaced charity, for I have little use for it.”  
”So you would listen to rumours or unkind words, but my words will fall on deaf ears? Are you so beyond all trust that you would not heed a warning from one who has nothing to gain by killing you?”  
Záhovar hesitated; Tamró's words had hit a nerve. Also, the cat that had been sitting quiet on the rock during their exchange now walked up to her and gave her an admonishing growl.  
”Two against one, it seems,” Tamró commented with a wry smile. ”Tevildo is a man of strong opinions; would you refuse him?”  
Záhovar arched an eyebrow. ”Tevildo?”  
”It is a children's tale,” Tamró explained, ”of Tevildo, the Prince of Cats, Mailikô's greatest champion in times of old. He and his cat followers won many battles against the Stillness, but the Stillness eventually brought him low by sending its great Hound after him. Whether that is a good or a bad thing has been the topic of many a late night debate. Whatever the answer, every town now has its own 'Tevildo'.”  
”Is it... he... yours?”  
Tamró smiled. ”No, you cannot own a cat. They come and go as they please. It is considered a blessing if one chooses to stay the night in your home, and an even greater one if it takes up residence for a longer period of time.”  
”I shall keep that in mind,” Záhovar replied slowly, ”though my followers may not. They would most likely try to eat him.”  
”They do not seem to mind that beastly wolf that travels with you.”  
”It is a warg, not a wolf. And they have much in common.”  
”Calling our dark little cousins beastly, are you?” Tamró asked wryly. ”Do not let those dwelling here hear you; they would no doubt have an opinion or twenty about it and make sure you heard them all.”  
”How come they dwell here at all? I was led to believe that eternal animosity reigned between Orcs and Elves.”  
”I am not the right Elf to ask, I'm afraid; I paid little attention to those lessons during my youth, and that interest has not yet sparked. But I can tell you this; Elves and Orcs may be different, but we share a common ancestry. We have walked these lands side by side for times untold; why should we not cooperate? There is benefit in it for both parts.”  
”So you say, yet I see no Men here. Are they not a part of your 'cooperative'?”  
”Men?” Tamró frowned. ”No, why would they? They are short-lived and short-sighted; crude children throughout. Perhaps we should protect them from themselves, but... they spread like a wildfire wherever they settle. This twilight empire has peace; we should not seek to disturb it by bringing in the chaos that is Man.”  
”And what of those whose lives are prolonged by sorcery or other means?”  
Tamró scowled in contempt. ”Such practices are outlawed, and for good reason! Those who seek such power do so for the wrong reasons; they toy with forces beyond their ken, and only ill can come of it.”  
”Then your offer is obsolete, marchwarden,” Záhovar said with an innocent smile. ”I have no wish to become an outlaw.” With that she left, and so she missed Tamró's terrified expression.  
  
  
Záhovar was not present when Praktash, Draumaturz and Mikbork returned, but Margzat would not give them leave to search for her, claiming that they were under orders to remain. The two Uruks let the snuffler go, dumped their armour and most of their clothing by the door and went out into the garden to cool off.  
”So... You an' Khishi-Khish, eh?” Praktash said as he wiped the water off his chest.  
”Khishi-Khish,” Draumaturz chuckled. ”Aye, he's alright. Better than some.”  
”Better than most?”  
” _Some._ ”  
”What's wrong with him?”  
”He's opinionated, for one.”  
”Khishi-Khish? Opinionated? Since when? Before you came along, he barely spoke five words in a week!”  
”He's smart enough to keep it to himself. Unlike some.” He nodded as Praktash offered him his booze-skin.  
”So what's he got opinions about, then?”  
Draumaturz winced after swallowing. ”Having a krîtar that cooks, for one.”  
”Don't tell me he'd rather have Zosh do it.”  
”Nar, he just thinks it's a snaga task. But like I said, he keeps it to himself.”  
”An' you're glad for that, right?”  
”Aye, wouldn't wanna watch the krîtar plow his trench for it. His farts'd be whistlin' out after, an' we've got enough annoyance from Lîrnash an' his snoring.”  
Praktash spat his drink out as he began to laugh. ”Sha, I did _not_ need that image in my head!”  
”Nar?” Draumaturz was laughing as well now, and had some trouble speaking. ”Maybe he could whistle along next time we sing on the road!”  
”Stooop,” Praktash howled; he was sobbing from laughter. Draumaturz broke down and soon they were both lying on the damp grass.

”Aren't you a merry bunch,” Mûrnaluzh said as he appeared under a trellis.  
”An' here comes the Sun an' ruins everythin',” Praktash gasped. ”Don't tell me you're eavesdroppin' now, Mûrna! That's sooo petty.”  
”Comin' from an Elf-fancier, I'll take it as a compliment.”  
”Elf- _what?_ ” Draumaturz exclaimed. ”Mûrna; what's wrong with ya? Got another tummy-ache?”  
”You know what I'm talkin' about!” Mûrnaluzh growled. ”How long did ya plan on keepin' yer master's secret quiet?”  
”What 'secret' is it we're supposed to have kept?” Praktash asked amiably.  
”Does it matter?” Draumaturz growled. ”I don't see how that's any o' your business! Lug-durbatar can keep all the secrets she like; that's not our place to stick our noses into.”  
”An' how do we know she's a Lug-durbatar in the first place?” He snorted as Praktash began to growl. ”Then tell me why the fuck the Eye would put an Elf in charge? You saw 'em earlier; ain't no difference in looks there! What's up with that? And not only that; send her off to kill another Lug-durbatar, one what's in good with our Ladyship and make a name for himself in the war! Something's not right about this; ya can't be that blind!”  
”Let me tell _you_ somethin' then,” Praktash snarled. ”Half the top o' the Tower has had dealin's with Elves at some point! Skai, even the Eye's treated with them, more than once!”  
”Who told ya that?”  
”...Záhovar.”  
”'Course she did,” Mûrnaluzh sneered. ”An' she's never lied to ya, nar! Always telling the truth to her pretty-faced favourite, she does.”  
”I won't have ya talk shit 'bout her,” Praktash growled as he stood. ”She's High Officer; you're goin' rogue!”  
Mûrnaluzh leered as he shoved Praktash hard before the latter had time to find his footing. ”Go on then; defend yer master! From the way ya act, you just traded one witch for another.”  
Praktash bellowed and stepped closer to Draumaturz to keep his back free. Mûrnaluzh turned towards Draumaturz with a menacing snarl. ”You stay the fuck outta this!”  
Draumaturz bared his fangs, but was clearly not up for a fight; Mûrnaluzh might not be as large as Margzat, but he was still an imposing figure and that was enough to make the much shorter Draumaturz back away. With one last look at Praktash, he left.  
”You fuckin' coward!!” Praktash shouted after him. Then he locked eyes with Mûrnaluzh, who leered at him with a smug expression.  
”Oops... Looks like this merry little moment's just for us, after all.”  
”What're you gonna do; kill me? 'Zat'd never let ya get away with that, nor would Záhovar!”  
”An' who says I plan on killin' ya?”

Praktash barely got out of the way as Mûrnaluzh attacked. The big Uruk did not bellow or even growl; all that could be heard was his breathing and the sound of his footsteps. Hand-to-hand fighting was Praktash's weak spot; if he had had a weapon, Mûrnaluzh would not stand a chance but as it was, he could only try to wear him out by staying out of his reach long enough for him to grow tired. And that might have worked if not for the slippery spot where he and Draumaturz had thrown water on each other earlier.  
Praktash felt his foot slip as he dodged and the air left his lungs as he fell flat. Mûrnaluzh caught him and shoved him hard against a tree; the next moment a hand grabbed his neck and Praktash felt his windpipe close as his opponent squeezed hard.  
”Now I got an offer for ya, if you care,” Mûrnaluzh murmured in his ear. ”You've messed this pack up for long enough; stay outta my quarrel with Margzat, an' you'll live to serve yer Elf cunt for a little longer. This pack's _mine!_ ”  
Praktash tried to spit a curse, but he could not breathe and slowly, his vision darkened. Then Mûrnaluzh let go a little and he instinctively gasped for air. Then he was choked again, brought just to the brink of fainting before being allowed to draw another breath. Mûrnaluzh savoured his struggles and chuckled as Praktash tried to claw his arm. As the torture went on, Praktash began to panic. No help would come; Draumaturz was in on it all!  
”So whaddya say, hmm?” Mûrnaluzh purred. ”Wanna play some more?”  
Tears ran down Praktash's cheeks as he shook his head. Mûrnaluzh tossed him aside and he hit the grass hard. Too weak to move, he watched Mûrnaluzh's boots apporach as the Uruk squatted above him.  
”Now you're a clever one,” Mûrnaluzh said. ”Clever enough not to snitch.” He reached out and grabbed Praktash's ear, twisting it until he forced a loud whine from him. ”D'ya hear me? No snitching.”  
Praktash nodded desperately and Mûrnaluzh let him go with a chuckle. ”At least you know when to bend. Keep it up an' there might be a place for ya in the pack once this is over.”  
A sob escaped Praktash's mouth when he could no longer hold the tears of pain and defeat back. Neither Uruk noticed the two pairs of eyes that watched them.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Strings, strings everywhere... where will this end? Also, no story is complete without at least one cat.
> 
> A note on the Avarin tongue: there are only six words in Avarin written by Tolkien and those are the names of the six Avari tribes, so I have resorted to using primitive Elvish instead.
> 
> Môr Erikwa – The Black Solitude, Avarin name for Mordor  
> Mailikô - Melkor  
> Miniia Mi-srawanwe – unique incarnate (Elf-Orc half-breeds are very rare, for obvious reasons)  
> Naukâ – "a word especially applied to things that though in themselves full-grown were smaller or shorter than their kind, and were hard, twisted or ill-shapen" (Yup, ancient Elvish has some seriously odd words)  
> Tevildo - this is actually the very first version of the character that would later evolve into Sauron. Yup, the Dark Lord of Mordor was once the Prince of Cats. It is too cute not to mention, and I've been waiting for the right moment to wedge it into the story somewhere.


	26. Half An Elf

Meanwhile, Záhovar had returned to the house. Her conversation with the marchwarden had left her strangely drained, and now she lay in bed, weary but unable to find rest. She wavered in the twilight between dreams and waking, and started as Zosh scurried into the room.  
”Master! Master!”  
”Yes?” Záhovar asked. ”What is the meaning of this?”  
”It's Mûrna, he's-” Suddenly she pounced in beneath the bed, mere blinks of an eye before Dînhoth appeared on the windowsill.  
”My lady,” the half-Elf greeted with a bow.  
”So this is the trap,” Záhovar said. ”You lured my snaga away, thinking to catch me off guard. I fear I must disappoint you!”  
”As a matter of fact, I was on my way to the meeting in question,” Dînhoth replied, ”but another matter caught my attention and I decided to make a short detour. Are you aware that one of your Uruks plan to sell you out?”  
”Sowing discord in my ranks? And I should trust you more than those whose very lives depend on their obedience to me?”  
”Alas, if only the threat of death could ensure loyalty!” Dînhoth leapt from the windowsill and stopped by the bed. ”It would make the world an easier place to live in, would it not? But we live not in such a world. Ask your green-eyed Lug-snaga; I daresay he has-”  
Dînhoth did not get any further. While he spoke, Zosh had snuck up behind him and now she hit him hard in the head with the little washing board she used to clean Záhovar's smallclothes.  
Záhovar smirked. ”Even the smallest person can change the course of the future, it seems. A boon you may ask for this, whatever you wish; if it lies within my power to grant it to you, then so I shall.”  
Zosh hesitated. ”Could... could I keep it for later?”  
”You may. But come; help me tie this intruder.”  
  
When Graznikh and Sulmurz returned from a meeting that never happened, they found their quarry tied to a chair in the dining room.  
”Care to explain what's going on here?” Graznikh asked Záhovar.  
”You assumed correctly,” she replied. ”The meeting was a trap, but one meant for me, not you. Luckily he did not get as far as he hoped.”  
”I hit 'im with the scrubby-thing!” Zosh grinned. She sat crosslegged on the table.  
”Good for ya,” Graznikh said. ”Where's yer mate?”  
”Here.” Graznikh looked up and spotted him lying on a shelf.  
”Great. So everyone's accounted for?”  
”Not Praktash,” Záhovar said. ”I have not seen him since he left to find the hideout.”  
”He went to th' garden with Drauma,” Mikbork said. ”Dunno where he went after.”  
”Oh!” Zosh squeaked and covered her mouth. ”I furgot..! Gotta say something!”  
”What about?” Graznikh asked, but Dînhoth took that moment to wake up. He groaned softly and blinked a few times before looking up.  
”Ah... I seem to have fallen short at last,” he murmured. ”Mailikô, my head..!”  
”We could always dump a bucket o' water on his head,” Graznikh suggested.  
”No water,” Dînhoth said. ”I shall be fine.” He shook his head. ”Pray tell; why am I tied?”  
”Twice you have entered my chambers unbidden,” Záhovar said.  
”I... apologise for my brashness, but I hardly see how that warrants such a response.” Dînhoth opened his mouth to say more, but the cold touch of a blade's edge at his neck distracted him.  
”Or,” Praktash murmured in his ear, ”you could tell us where Dachman is. Hmm?”  
Graznikh grinned as he spotted him and Praktash winked in return.  
”I am unfamiliar with that name,” Dînhoth replied. ”Are you sure you pronounce it correctly?”  
”Don't play daft,” Praktash growled. ”It doesn't suit ya!”  
”Praktash,” Záhovar warned. ”This is no time for games.”  
”Games?” Praktash grinned. ”Nar, master, this is no playtime. Y'see; while Graz had his little chat with this one, me, Drauma an' Mik went sniffin' around an' found his hidey-hole.” He threw a worn leather pouch to her and looked at Dînhoth. ”Now you _might_ wanna tell us where you got that many Eye tokens, hmm? It's not exactly somethin' ya flaunt in this town.”  
”This is ridiculous,” Dînhoth said. ”What use have I of tokens from Erikwa?”  
”Enough use to try an' murder a High Officer, apparently,” Praktash retorted before turning to Záhovar. ”Mikbork recognised his scent. From Rhûn, remember? We couldn't pick up the archer's trail, 'cause he couldn't place it? There's your answer.” He pointed at a clay vial that had fallen out of the pouch when Záhovar emptied it on the table. ”Some kind o' scent-maskin' oil. That and the fact that he's half-blood was enough to muck things up even for our snuffler.”  
”Skai, that doesn't look good,” Graznikh commented softly. ”Right, Dînhoth? Not good at all.”  
”You have no evidence of any such connections,” Dînhoth said, but he looked more and more sceptical of his own words.  
”We don't _need_ pwoof,” Sulmurz leered.  
”If I were you, I'd start talkin',” Praktash said with a friendly smile. ”Y'see, Graz an' Sully here absolutely _hates_ it when someone threatens our master. As do I, come to think of it. Sure, you could shut up an' take your secrets with ya in death, but that death might be a little further off than you'd think. An' the time from now to the Void would be _very_ painful.”  
  
”There's no need for theatrics,” Dînhoth muttered as Graznikh began to sharpen one of his knives. ”I know what a dead end looks like.” He straightened up and met Záhovar's cold gaze. ”Very well; what do you wish to know?”  
”To begin with, everything.”  
”Everything I know, or everything in the world?”  
”Do not bandy words with me! Where is Dachman?”  
”I do not know precisely; my orders were always relayed by courier.”  
”So you admit to being hired to kill me?”  
”Yes.”  
”Where and when?”  
”In Thaurband and Rhûn. I also made an attempt as you passed through the Desolation, but it failed.”  
”Hold on; _you_ were behind the poisoning in Thaurband?!” Graznikh snarled. He let out a furious bellow when Dînhoth nodded, but fell somewhat silent when Záhovar told him to. ”I'm gonna kill ya,” he growled under his breath. ”I'm gonna strip the skin off yer back and rub salt in every cut!”  
”I second that,” Praktash said grimly.  
”Count me in,” Sulmurz added.  
”It is so nice to see old rivals united in mutual hatred,” Dînhoth commented, ”but remember that I am merely a messenger. Your true enemy remains ahead of you.”  
”Not for much longer,” Záhovar said. ”With or without you, his nights are numbered. The number of your own depends on the quality of the information you are about to give me.”  
Dînhoth nodded. ”I was behind the poisoning, on Dachman's orders. He did not choose the poison, however; I doubt that he is even aware of it's existence, rare as it is.”  
”Nightfoam,” Záhovar said and Dînhoth nodded.  
”That is the one. I am surprised you know of it, and even more so that you're still alive. As far as I know, there is no cure.”  
”Actually, there is,” Praktash said with a big, smug grin and revelled in Dînhoth's astonished expression.  
”Don't go off like the 'cone factories now, buddy,” Graznikh chuckled. ”That find was a coincidence.”  
”All the best finds are,” Praktash pointed out, still grinning. ”I made the stuff, the rest doesn't matter!”  
”Mind your tongues,” Záhovar snapped. ”Remember who is listening.” She turned back to Dînhoth. ”So you were behind the attempts on my life in Thaurband and Rhûn. Why reveal yourself to us now?”  
”I was growing desperate,” Dînhoth explained. ”You proved exceedingly hard to kill, and Dachman is a dangerous man to fail.”  
”You have worked for him before, then?”  
Dînhoth nodded. ”On a number of occasions. Nothing as big as this though. In fact, I was surprised when he contacted me.”  
”And where is he now?”  
”Like I said, I do not know.”  
”'Precisely', you said. That means you have some clue.”  
”Perceptive... The courier always arrived from the northwest. That may not be much, but...”  
”Where did you meet this courier?”  
”In a glade some three hours' walk north of town.”  
Záhovar frowned. _Hours?_ ”And am I correct in assuming that you can lead us to this glade?”  
”I can,” Dînhoth replied. ”And I will, if that is what you require of me.”   
”And how do we know this isn't just another trap?” Graznikh asked.   
”We know 'cause he'll be wearin' the leash and collar that 'Zat brought along,” Praktash said. ”I'll put a spike inside it tipped with Nightfoam. If you're attacked on the road, he'll die as well the moment you yank the chain.”  
Dînhoth paled a little.

  
They traveled north as evening neared.  
”Please,” Dînhoth gasped. ”Slow down; I cannot keep up with you like this!”  
”Shut that hole o' yours,” Graznikh growled.   
”Fnaga can't be choose's,” Sulmurz said. ”If ya can' keep up, a bit o' thicklin' with the whip'll get ya mothivatedh fo' sure!”  
”And killing me before you each your intended goal will only lead to you missing the spot,” Dînhoth snapped. ”Without me, you will not find it!”  
As much as Graznikh hated it, Dînhoth had it right; they _did_ need him. Reluctantly he gave the half-Elf a breather before setting out at a slower pace. Even so, it was not long until Dînhoth warned him that they were nearing the right place.  
”The courier usually appears from the northwest, over by the fallen tree up on the slope. See it?”  
”Right,” Graznikh whispered and nodded to Sulmurz, who took an arrow between his teeth and disappeared up into a spruce. He was not to kill the courier, but injure whoever it was so that they could not flee. Graznikh made Dînhoth lean casually against a tree while lying down flat on the ground behind him. Then they waited.  
  
The courier appeared just as the Sun's rays coloured the tip of the nearest mountain a fiery yellow. Dînhoth played his part admirably, something that made Graznikh both glad and disappointed; glad because they caught the courier with ease; disappointed because Záhovar had strictly forbidden him from killing him as long as he cooperated. Sulmurz did his part and managed to aim true despite clinging to the spruce's top; the courier shrieked as the arrow pierced her thigh.  
The interrogation went fast; the courier's tongue had been cut. Dachman's signet had been branded onto her forehead.  
”He's fucking toying with us!!” Graznikh roared as he slit the girl's throat. ”That bastard tark-whoring shit-licking... Graaahh!!”  
Sulmurz squatted beside the body. ”Wook 'ere,” he said.  
”The fuck're you talking about?!” Graznikh snarled.  
”I believe he is talking about the pocket she has... _had..._ tucked inside her belt,” Dînhoth said.  
”I didn't ask you, spawn of a golug!” He took the leather piece that Sulmurz had found.  
  
 _”The one who seeks  
May find the end of the line  
But the one who also sees  
Makes out the meaning of the signs  
  
The fallen star is dying  
The forgotten becomes the light  
After the seventh circle is complete  
Red sand will cover the ground.”  
_  
”Oh, I'm gonna kill him,” Graznikh seethed. ”I'm gonna kill him slowly, he's gonna drown in his own blood when I'm done with him!!” He threw the note and Dînhoth's leash to Sulmurz and stomped back towards town.  
Dînhoth stared after him. ”He does have quite the temper, has he not?”  
Sulmurz shrugged. ”I guefh...” He grunted quietly as something pricked his shoulder from behind. Before he could make any further sound, the gravel underneath his feet simultaneously gave away and rose to meet his face. The next moment he was unconscious.   
  
Graznikh doubled back as soon as he discovered that Sulmurz and Dînhoth had not followed him. As soon as he spotted Sulmurz's unmoving body, he let out a curse and lengthened his steps. Thankfully, Sulmurz was still breathing but no prodding could wake him up. Dînhoth was nowhere in sight; even his footprints seemed to vanish in this air just a few steps away.  
 _Probably took to the trees,_ Graznikh thought while eyeing the dark spruces overhead. _Shit, I gotta get back to Záhovar!!_ He considered leaving Sulmurz behind, but that would surely only earn him his master's wrath. _Only one thing to do then._ Sulmurz was heavy; carrying him would be slow going. _Skai, I sure hope Margzat's kept the others on alert!_  
Luckily, Záhovar and the rest were as healthy as before he left them. After instructing the others to help carry him inside and calling for Praktash, she demanded an explanation from the only one left conscious.   
”You should have known better than to split up,” she told him with a hint of a hiss in her voice. ”You knew he could not be trusted! Now the snake has slipped our graps, and no doubt he will go straight to his master and warn him of our coming!”  
”Not without leavin' a stinger,” Praktash muttered nearby. He grabbed the little needle that was lodged in Sulmurz's shoulder and tried to pull it out, but in vain. ”This thing's got some serious barbs! I'mma need a knife for this.”  
”Might be that thing was meant for me,” Graznikh said. ”And judging by the punches he gave me earlier, Sulmurz wouldn'ta fared much better.”  
”And so we have lost our unwilling guide...” Záhovar gave him a hard glare. ”Was it worth it, or was your trip for naught?”  
Graznikh handed her the note with a hateful sneer. She read it a few times over, her frown deepening each time. ”This is... not what I expected.”  
”Gibberish, right?”  
”Not all of it. The first part is platitude, but the second... I have read that somewhere before.”  
”Where?”  
”I cannot recall. I shall have to think about it.” She made a dismissive gesture with her hand and turned to Praktash, who had just finished sewing the cut he had made in Sulmurz's thick hide. ”Will he live?”  
”Sure, he'll wake up in a bit. Might be in pain for a while though; this poison's nasty, but common; I had the antidote mixed an' ready.”  
”Speaking o' missin' guides; where's Akûl?” Graznikh asked.  
Margzat frowned. ”He was guardin' the door last I went out for a piss.”  
”Well, he wasn't there now. Who was out there last?”  
”Hey, snuffler?” Ghakû grunted. ”Where's yer mate?”  
Mikbork looked up from his bowl and shrugged. Then he locked eyes with Graznikh and his already large eyes grew even larger.  
Graznikh cocked is head. ”Where is she?”  
”I-I dunno,” Mikbork said with the guiltiest expression possible. Then he squeaked as Graznikh crossed the room and pinned him to the wall with a tight grip on his neck. The snuffler's little claws scratched against the thick iron bracer, but could not dislodge the berserker's fist.  
”Snaga can't keep secrets fer shit,” Lîrnash chuckled.  
”Where the fuck is she?!” Graznikh roared.  
”S-somehwere north o' here!” Mikbork croaked. ”I dunno fer sure; she di'in't tell me shit 'fore she left!”  
Graznikh glared at him, growling low in his throat. Mikbork desperately searched for a better grip on the wall with his bare feet, his nimble, clawed toes digging into the wood to alleviate the pressure on his neck. Graznikh abruptly let him go and turned away. Then he turned back, And Mikbork curled up into a ball, anticipating a kick that never came.  
”You'll find her trail, you'll take me'n Ghakû there'n-”  
No,” Záhovar interrupted. ”There will be no more separations, not with a murderer on the loose! And we cannot delay because of one wayward snaga.”  
Graznikh looked up. ”So... What're ya saying?”  
”She is on her own. Eat and rest; the rest of you will pack your things. We are leaving at sunset.”  
  
While Graznikh and Sulmurz rested, the others made ready to leave. Equipment was cared for, horses were loaded, everyone was fed well and Záhovar spoke with Tamró, who agreed to give them provisions for the journey. They mainly consisted of dried root vegetables, berries and such. Margzat grumbled a little, but along with what dried meat and fatty rations they had left, they would not starve.  
Sulmurz would ride on one of the pack horses, and the Uruks had to lift him onto it. He was sweating profusely and gnashed his teeth from the pain; he even downed Praktash's painkillers without so much as a snide remark.  
Tamró came to say his farewells when they gathered outside the guesthouse. ”Please, do come by on your way back.”  
”If my mission is a success, I must return to Lugburz with the greatest haste,” Záhovar replied.  
”I understand... I wish you the best of luck then. And my offer still stands, should you ever reconsider.”  
”I shall keep it in mind, if the need ever rises.”  
Tamró nodded. ”I can ask no more.” Then he frowned. ”I would offer you a warning though. Do not trust the Miniia Mi-srawanwe; his is a crooked path.”  
”I daresay that he is the least of my worries,” Záhovar replied with a smirk. ”But I shall keep that in mind as well.”  
Tamró nodded mutely. He frowned, and after some hesitation he took a small suede pouch from his shoulder bag. Záhovar felt a strange sensation as she took it and as she opened it, a little locket fell out. It was wrought with silver, encircling a stone that looked black in the shade. As she held it up towards the setting Sun, she found that it was in fact a very deep green. ”What is this?”  
”A blessing,” Tamró whispered cryptically, ”and a curse. Whichever will befall you, I cannot say, but you should keep it close even so. Do not lose it or give it away. Even a curse can prove a blessing in time.”   
Before Záhovar could demand a straight answer, he had turned and left. She glared after him for a moment before pocketing the pouch and its content. As she looked up, she found Graznikh standing in the doorway. He had no doubt heard Tamró's words, and was looking in the Elf's direction with an odd look in his eyes. _Do yuo have questions as well, my Lug-snaga? I can see that you do. But are they the same as mine, and what answers would you recieve?_  
  
  
Graznikh set out on foot to scout ahead as soon as they had left the Elven outpost behind. At first, Záhovar had them double back westward to the last spot where they set up camp before the Elves found them. Then she waited until the Moon rose above the horizon and had them travel in that direction.  
”Ya do know the Moon moves, right?” Graznikh told her. ”It won't stay put like a star.”  
”Stars do not stay put either,” she replied. ”But I am not aiming for the Moon, only the place where it rose.”  
”Why?” Praktash asked and immediately came to regret it as Ghrazagh yanked his red hair.  
”Don't question the Lug-durbatar!”  
”Fuck off, Ga-Ga!”  
”I take it you figured out what the note meant?” Graznikh asked her while ignoring the quarrelling Uruks.  
Záhovar nodded. ”It is a map of sorts; he is telling us where the battle will stand.”  
”Where the trap will close, ya mean.”  
”Indeed. But I do not intend to play his game.”  
Graznikh frowned. ”Whaddya mean?”  
”While you were away, I sent Zosh and Akûl ahead.”  
”What?! Why didn'tcha tell me so from the start?”  
”I have my reasons.” She held up a palm as he tried to push the issue and gave him a look of steel. ”I have my reasons.”  
Graznikh fell quiet, then he nodded. ”Alright... I'll take first watch.”  
  
Záhovar was fast asleep when Graznikh returned. Instead of lying down on his own pallet, he sat down beside her sleeping form and watched her breathe while he thought about all the weird stuff that had happened.  
 _We coulda made it,_ he thought bitterly. _If those tarks hadn't been in the way, if they hadn't found us, we coulda gone here. We coulda made a life here, in a place where Elves'n Orcs live together as if it's the most normal thing in the world. A place where even their cubs can have a decent life. Skai, we coulda made it!_ He took a few strands of her hair and let them slide between his scarred, calloused fingers. _I coulda been a soldier, or a leatherworker maybe. She coulda... I dunno, joined the wardens or become a hunter or whatever. We coulda had cubs and a nice house and... Skai!_  
Graznikh leaned forward and buried his face in the dark tresses, taking care not to wake her. _I failed ya, âmbal. I failed ya, and now I might've lost ya forever. We coulda been at peace... Instead we're here, fighting a pointless war to earn the right to survive in a land that doesn't want either of us. I'm sorry, âmbal, so sorry I fucked up so badly!_  
Záhovar stirred and a single tear slid down her cheek. Graznikh gently brushed it away and began to remove his armour. There was a light tap on the tent cloth and Praktash stuck his head in.   
”There's someone at the edge of camp, askin' for ya.”  
”Me?” Graznikh frowned as Praktash nodded.  
”Asked for ya by name.” Praktash led the way to where Mikbork had taken up guard, then returned to camp and let Graznikh deal with the interruption. The snuffler had an arrow on the bowstring and glared at the hooded figure casually leaning against a tree some distance off. Graznikh recognised Dînhoth's scent before he had even lifted his hood.  
”I know what I did,” he said before Graznikh had time to open his mouth. ”I am afraid the battle you no doubt look forward to has been called off; events progressed far faster than I believed possible.”  
”The fuck're ya talking about?”  
”The marchwarden who was to aid you has been murdered. No, it was not by my hand,” he snapped when Graznikh let out a hostile growl. ”I fear your master will be framed for the murder, for by all accounts the culprit was a wraith of no small power. No imperial citizen would ever summon such a being to do their bidding, no matter how grievous the insult; the Elves have not the heart and the Orcs have not the strength.”  
”Well, she didn't! Why the fuck would she ask for his help'n then kill him? That's bonkers!”  
”It matters little now,” Dînhoth hissed. ”This is a matter of Imperial security now; the wardens will call in the Amber Host to investigate, and once they arrive your mistress will be taken to the capital to stand on trial for necromancy!”  
”I'll kill every last bastard who tries!”  
”That may not be necessary. There is an alternative, but...”  
”But what?!”  
” _But_ it would require a deal of trust on your part. I can lead you through the Mailikan ruins; the wardens will not follow and the Host must march from the nearest citadel. Even with a small mounted force it will be a week before they arrive, at best.”  
Graznikh gnashed his teeth. ”I can't make this decision over her head! She's in charge o' this.”  
”Then wake her up and let her decide,” Dinhoth said, ”but hurry! If the wardens decide to take matters in their own hands and avenge their fallen leader, this camp will be the site of a blood bath no matter which side ends up on the winning side!”  
  
”Oh fuck,” came Praktash's shrill voice as Graznikh turned to alert Záhovar. ”Oh fuck fuck _fuck!_ Záhovar! Graznikh! _Záhovar!!”_ The next moment, the camp erupted in chaos. Graznikh wasted no time; he charged in, blades drawn, Mikbork and Dînhoth close behind him. As he passed some invisible border, the air turned cold as death. Wave after wave of dread pulsed over him and for a moment his steps grew sluggish, but somehow he managed to stand fast. Some of the Uruks cowered on the ground, the others had fled, as had all the Orcs. Praktash stood alone in front of Záhovar's tent, mace raised to strike but frozen in place, his face pale and eyes wild, staring in horror at some invisible spot in the air before him. For some reason, Graznikh nearly choked with fear at the sight. _Why the fuck am I so scared all of a sudden?!_  
Dînhoth shouted something and whatever spell Praktash had fallen under seemed to break; he began to gasp and hyperventilate as if he had only just remembered how to breathe. Dînhoth whimpered and began to shake uncontrollably. Graznikh's knives fell out of his hands as the invisible force advanced upon them, draining their resolve.  
The wall of the tent ripped as Záhovar spun her glaive, and the next moment she was there, shielding both Graznikh and Dînhoth from the malevolent presence. A piercing scream split the air and Záhovar answered it in kind as she reached for the Unseen. Graznikh almost lifted from the ground with the blast that hit him and now he could see it; the silvery silhouette of a Man long dead, with burning eyes and a mouth that seeped pure Darkness. It raised a blade covered in hoarfrost and brought it down hard on Záhovar, but her own wraith-touched weapon blocked it with ease and soon they were locked in combat. Graznikh picked his blades up.  
”USHATÂRI!!!” he bellowed. ”Grab yer weapons, to the Durbatar!!”  
Now that the wraith's powers of dread and dismay were focused on its true victim, the others were free. Answering bellows came from near and far as the Orcs and Uruks returned to camp at speed and formed a ring of steel around the combatants as more physical enemies closed in.

The wraith hacked at Záhovar's defenses. Whatever martial skills the Man had had in life had been picked up anew when his spirit was forcibly drawn from whatever restless existence it had had in death. _A single scratch of that blade and I fear I am done for. I do not know whether I am immune to the taint of wraiths in its pure form._ As Graznikh closed in and shielded her from other combatants, Záhovar dared to divide her focus between defending herself and working to undo the cords that bound the wraith to the world of the living. They were strong, but not strong enough; one last effort and the wraith halted its assault. Its face, once as passive and emotionless as her own, suddenly smiled in gratitude and relief a brief moment before it flickered and faded out of sight and sense. Záhovar lifted her glaive in salute before allowing herself to relax.  
Praktash fell to his knees with a low howl. The next moment Záhovar and Graznikh were there, touching, supporting, comforting. The three knelt together and leaned on each other, ignoring the presence of their bewildered audience.  
”Thank you,” Záhovar whispered too low for anyone else to hear. ”Thank you for risking your life and sanity for me. That was not your purpose, but-”  
”I don't give a flyin' fuck about purpose!” Praktash sobbed. ”It was gonna eat ya!” He pulled them both closer. ”You're _mine!_ My Záza! I won't let anyone hurt ya, ever..!”  
”And that feeling is mutual,” Záhovar replied, ”for the both of you.” Graznikh's only reply was a little purr.  
Margzat watched the shameless display of affection and bonding and had never felt lonelier. _That_ was what a pack was supposed to be; sticking together through thick and thin, watching each others' backs, pulling each other up when the going got rough. _That_ was a real pack, and he had no part in it. _Might as well get used to it... When I don the collar, I'll be seein' that over'n over, always from the outside._ That thought did not ease the pain in the slightest.  
  
  
As they stood up, Dînhoth quietly cleared his throat to get Záhovar's attention. He inclined his head as she saw him.  
Záhovar frowned. ”What are you doing here?”  
”He came to warn us,” Graznikh said and quickly explained the situation. ”We're bloody lucky; if he hadn't come and kept me'n Praktash awake, we wouldn'ta noticed that wraith.”  
”So he saved our lives, if only by happenstance,” Záhovar commented with a glance at Dînhoth. ”It would seem that I am in your debt.”  
”Think nothing of it,” he replied. His eyes grew wide as cold steel touched his neck. Graznikh shot Draumaturz a grin; the Uruk had casually strolled up behind Dînhoth while Záhovar spoke and had placed his sword so that Dînhoth could not reach him before he had time to cut his throat if he made a wrong move. ”What..?”  
”And how much of a part did you have in this latest assassination attempt?” Graznikh asked calmly after he had stripped him of every sharp object he could find. It turned out to be a rather impressive collection of little knives, darts and needles that were no doubt poisoned. ”You're too bloody well-informed to be just an eavesdropper, so out with it.”  
Dînhoth frowned briefly, but then he sighed with a defeated scowl. ”I was to keep an eye on your doings here and inform lord Dachman.”  
”Where is he?” Záhovar asked.  
”In the Mailikan ruins.”  
”Why did you offer to bring us there?” Graznikh asked. ”He set up another ambush?”  
”Yes, but I shall gladly give you the location of it so that you can outsmart him, if you wish.”  
”And how do we know ya won't just lead us into the real one?”  
”And risk being tortured? Perish the thought; I am rather fond of my skin, tainted though it may be.”  
  
Suddenly Mikbork perked up and turned towards the north. Moments later, Akûl came trotting in, bearing Zosh on his back.  
Záhovar smirked slightly at her clumsy salute. ”And what did you uncover, my little spy?”  
”There's a _lot_ of 'em,” Zosh said with concern.  
”How many encampments?” She nodded as Zosh held up three fingers.  
”'M not sure they're all together,” Zosh added. ”And one's 'bout to be sick.”  
Záhovar arched an eyebrow. ”Sick?”  
”Uhu,” Zosh replied while scratching her matted hair. ”See; Mutt'n me-”  
”'Mutt'?!” Graznikh protested.  
”'Ee's got fleas! All mutts've fleas! Anyway; Mutt'n me-”  
”He doesn't have fleas! If he has fleas it's your fault!”  
”WILL YOU SHUT UP!!!” Zosh shrieked, making several of the Uruks stagger back with their ears covered.  
”Skai, that little bitch can holler,” Sulmurz groaned.  
”Bitch can bite too, if you don't shut it,” Zosh snapped at him and made Praktash laugh out loud. ”Anyway; Mutt'n me went for a distraction, just in case. 'Ee made a ruckus'n led 'em off while I dropped some o' that titspunk-stuff in their stew. Added some shrooms too, an' some o' that powder Prak's been giving me. So-”  
”You poured _rutkiller_ in their food?!” Praktash was laughing so hard that he had trouble breathing.  
”Why, what's it doing to tarks?” Graznikh asked.  
”They're gonna be more than just sick after a bowl of that! Poor bastards!”  
”That is one third of the enemy force accounted for then,” Záhovar said with a mirthful expression. ”What of the other two?”  
”Like I said, 'm not sure the third's part o' the rest,” Zosh replied. ”They's different, 'n they's camping too far off.”  
”Where exactly?” Dînhoth asked. ”What did they look like?”  
Zosh gave him a suspicious look. ”Whazz'at one doing here?”  
”Suffice to say, he saved some lives tonight,” Záhovar told her. ”Answer him.”  
Zosh shrugged. ”Camp's by some big lump o' a stone with a funny shape, up on the edge o' the big hole. They's dressed in furs'n stuff, all fluffy.”  
Dînhoth nodded. ”Mannish treasure seekers. The ruins are the source of many a rumour and myth, and they always draw scavengers despite the danger. I doubt that they will trouble you.”  
”Many have mentioned how 'dangerous' these ruins are,” Záhovar said, ”but none have specified the nature of this danger.”  
”I do not know,” Dînhoth told her. ”But the marchwardens of Ruskârne have patrolled the outskirts for I do not know how long, guarding it against intruders. Some fell sorcery lies heavy within the crater, seeping out of the stones themselves. It does not kill, but it leaves you... changed. Some have been driven to madness. The Elves cannot stand its presence for long.”  
Záhovar nodded slowly. ”That confirms my suspicions; this was indeed a city in ages past, before the world changed.” She turned back towards her ruined tent. ”Dispose of the bodies as you wish. I shall try to get whatever rest can still be found.”  
Praktash glanced at Dînhoth. ”What happens to Orcs who go in there?”  
Dînhoth only shook his head, eyes full of concern.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dachman's poem is a modified line from ”Prophetian” by Eternal Tears Of Sorrow


	27. Dachman

The following day brought heavy clouds and a light dusting of snow. No Sun meant that the Orcs and Uruks could break camp earlier than expected, but all were not accounted for.  
”Ghakû an' Kraash're still missin',” Margzat reported after a quick headcount.  
”Of course they'd take the first opportunity to bolt,” Graznikh growled. ”Wanna bet on finding their ugly faces among Dachman's troops later?”  
”Now now, don't be like 'at, lad,” Ghakû chuckled as he waddled into camp with a sneering Kraash in tow. ”We didn't sign on to fight wraiths; that's Top Ones' business!”  
”Aye, and your business is to obey yer fucking commander!” Graznikh snarled back. ”Were ya both deaf when I gave the order to rally?”  
”And what makes ya think we weren't holdin' the flank?” Kraash replied. ”No thanks needed.”  
”I'll take your word for it the night the Mountain spews rainbows,” Graznikh spat. Kraash sneered back and the two Orcs began to size each other up.  
”Order in the ranks,” Záhovar said calmly. She did not need to raise her voice; Kraash swallowed and backed away. Graznikh took a little longer and kept glaring at Kraash while fondling the hilt of his knife.  
”I like it when you're rubbin' your shaft like that,” Praktash purred wth a shameless smile. Dînhoth chuckled softly, making the redheaded Uruk's lip curl into a sneer.  
”You do not like me,” Dînhoth noted.  
”'Course I don't. You tried to kill my master, you're a coward an' you're ugly.”  
”Ouch.” Dînhoth smiled. ”Such a barbed tongue! But it should not come as a surprise, I suppose; you are, after all, Miniia.”  
”I'm what?”  
”I thought you were a half-Elf, half-Orc?” Graznikh said. ”My buddy is as far from that as you can get.”  
Praktash's face fell. ”He's _what?!_ ”  
”Ah yes, flaunt my mystery like a banner to be brandished,” Dînhoth replied caustically. ”Drag it into the dirt until it is as battered and dirtied as you are!”  
”What mystery? The only mystery here is when you'll betray us next!”  
”I assure you, I have no such-”  
”Will you _shut up_ with the flower talk?!” Dînhoth took a step back as Graznikh advanced on him. ”We only got your word on all this not being your fault!”  
Dînhoth turned to Záhovar, who had been watching the exchange with narrowed eyes. ”He's a rather paranoid piece of work, isn't he?”  
”I do not recall asking for your input,” she replied coolly. ”Is it true? That you are a...”  
”Half-blood? Yes. My father's kin call us Miniia Mi-srawanwe, I suppose the most accurate translation would be 'unique incarnate'.”  
”Thazz sick!” Zosh exclaimed. ”Who'd wanna rut an Elf?” Dînhoth glanced at Graznikh who gave him a very dangerous glare in return.  
 _Miniia? So that is what Tamró meant._ ”And what reason could the Elves have for distrusting you?”  
”Apart from me having darker blood and sharing parts of the Orcish inclination for bloodlust?”  
”An' the fact that you're a murderer who's got access to Elf-killer poison,” Praktash added.  
”You said Orcs don't know how to summon wraiths'n Elves don't wanna, but I heard ya shout something last night what made that killer wraith go from Praktash'n over to us,” Graznikh recalled. ”That's more than a bit suspicious, don'tcha think?”  
”I merely taunted it in hopes that it would see me as the greater threat. Clearly it worked.”  
”Why do that if you're tasked with killing her?”  
”What does it matter?” Dînhoth retorted. ”I saved your master's life! Is that not enough? You can make one of two choices; either you kill me and aim for some vague spot on the horizon, hoping to stumble upon Dachman's encampment by accident, or you let me live and make whatever you will of my guidance. Take it or leave it. But know this; should I ever return to him, he will surely have me killed. I only took the job because of the reward offered; if I return without some proof of your master's demise, I will be the one to die. And since he sent that wraith, which, had it succeeded in killing the lady, would no doubt have slain the rest of us as well, he already considers me a failure. Even if I managed the task now, I am a dead Miniia.” He folded his arms across his chest and glared sullenly at some spot beyond the fire's reach. ”I daresay my chances of survival at this point are far higher with you than with him.”  
Graznikh kept glaring suspiciously at him, but remained silent at Záhovar's command.   
”Stay then,” she said, ”but you will remain close to Graznikh at all times. He has my permission to kill you at the slightest sign of betrayal.”  
Dînhoth nodded. ”Fair enough.”  
  
Twilight deepened as the little force made their way into the ruined city. The horses were left tied above; they would be of little use in battle. Graznikh left Akûl as well; he would guard the horses and the camp in case any Men came snooping around. The tree tops on the far side were still coloured red by the setting Sun, but in the depths of the crater, darkness loomed. The rim was too high to jump down but Graznikh fashioned a makeshift ladder by tying loops into a rope. The ground here was blasted and scorched, just like it had been further south.  
”This place is huge,” Sulmurz whispered. He immediately shot Praktash a sour look, but the redhead did not seem to have heard him. He kept eyeing the shadows behind boulders and ruins and remained quietly glued to Záhovar's side. When she placed a hand on his arm, he let out a very un-Uruky ”yiii!” and stumbled sideways.  
”Skai, don't _do_ that!” he hissed as the others choked back laughter.   
”Are you alright?” Záhovar asked.  
”Nar, I'm not!” he snarled, but then he grew quiet again. ”Let's just move.”  
When they paused after a few tolls, Záhovar led Praktash away from the rest. ”What is wrong?”  
”Please don't tell me I'm the only one who sees 'em,” he whispered with a terrified scowl.  
”See what?”  
”Those!” He pointed at the dark side of a black, crumbled building block. As they watched, a shimmering, lead-coloured thread seeped out of the rock and twisted into an intricate loop before seemingly melting and sinking down into the ground.  
”Wisps,” Záhovar whispered. ”Now we know this place is ancient.”  
”I don't! What are they?”  
”Demons, or rather what is left of them. Do you recall what I told you in Rhûn, about the ghâshgoths?”  
”Yeah, you said they were the fists of the True Master.”  
”Indeed. These wisps are the last remnants of similar beings whose physical forms were destroyed long before Orcs or Elves walked these lands. Too weak to take shape ever again, formless and unconscious they will meander aimlessly through Creation until the world is reshaped once more.”  
”So... they're not dangerous?”  
”No. We would not even notice their presence had we not been able to see them. They only congregate here because they once had a connection to it, much like the restless ghosts of Men gather in battlefields or near burial mounds. Perhaps they were the original inhabitants of this place, during the time when it was a grand city.”   
Praktash's fear drained away now that he knew what they were. He squatted to take a closer look as one of the little wisps snaked out of the ground in front of him. He tentatively held out a finger and after a moment's hesitation, he quickly lashed out at the ethereal wisp. His touch went unnoticed, but after a while the wisp moved towards him, coiling a few times around his wrist before suddenly melting and passing through it back into the ground. Praktash smiled a little as he dusted his hands off. As he looked up, he found Záhovar watching him with a calculating expression.  
”Don't read anythin' into it,” he told her. Záhovar's only reply was an arched eyebrow. As she turned to leave, Praktash called out to her. ”Say... master?”  
She stopped. ”Yes?”  
”Can I... have a piece o' your hair?”  
Záhovar frowned. ”My hair? Why?”  
”It's for a little somethin' I'm makin'. It's no dushatar stuff or anythin'.”  
”Will you tell me what it is when you are done?”  
”Better; I'll show ya.”  
After a moment of hesitation, she pulled a knife from the belt. Then she cut off a thin but long tress of hair and gave it to him. Praktash pocketed it and followed her back to where they had left the others.  
  
Once the sun set, the crater city seemed to change character. The weathered ruins began to flicker like black fire, and through the ground a mist of Unlight seeped up. For some reason, it parted wherever Záhovar stepped, but as a single little cloud touched Lîrnash's gauntleted hand, he seemed to slowly get sucked into it. He screamed in terror and desperately scratched the ground, but to no avail; he would have disappeared entirely if Záhovar had not taken his hand and done something to push the darkness back. Afterwards, he was shaking like a leaf in a storm and huddled, whimpering, in the center of the uzhâk.  
Záhovar took a strange, pale stone from one of her belt pockets. Graznikh felt a strange rush as she held it with both hands, eyes closed, and suddenly the nearby walls were bathed in a soft, greenish light. It reminded him of the walls of Blog Shakâmb as he had seen them from far away.  
”This is a ghostlight,” she explained when Dînhoth asked. ”An enchanted stone that will glow when touched by the Unseen. Very useful for tracking wraiths, ghosts... and for finding your way in places where all other lights go out. It will keep the darkness at bay.”  
”What the fuck is this?” Praktash asked as the darkness rose to a solid wall of black smoke around them, the ghostlight forming a little bubble of safety around them.  
”The Dark Lord's touch,” Záhovar replied. ”The True Master. This place is full of memory... and anger.”  
”I thought he was on our side?”  
” _We_ would have been on _His_ side,” she corrected, ”in the time when this place stood. And now I am certain that this was no city, but a warcamp. The ghâshgoths were beings of Shadow and Flame, and when forced to give up ground to the Enemy, they would cast a spell upon it so that it would be forever useless to them. This darkness draws all life it touches into the Unseen, never to return. The Nazgûl have something similar, but not as powerful. The effect wanes in the Sun's light, but now it is night.”  
”So how the fuck does Dachman have a camp here?”  
”No doubt he has ghostlights of his own. I doubt the Elves do.”  
”Indeed they do not,” Dînhoth said reverently. ”I have never even heard of magic like this! Are you saying that... Mailikô Himself once touched this soil? Here?”  
”For all we know, we could be walking in His footsteps. This is sacred ground. Do not take any rocks with you when we leave; there is no telling what will happen to you come next nightfall if you do.”  
Zosh immediately emptied her pockets of all the little pebbles she had gathered.  
  


Soon they reached higher ground within the immense crater and made camp inside a building that still had all four walls intact. Záhovar decided that it would be wiser to wait for sunrise since they only had one ghostlight; it would not do to stumble into the enemy camp without even seeing it before their ghostlight collided with another. Despite her assurance that the ghostlight would hold the Void at bay, the Orcs and Uruks huddled as close to the light as they could, unable to sleep. Lîrnash was still whimpering every now and then, staring at the ghostlight with eyes that had seen unspeakable horrors.The very same moment dawn arrived, the impenetrable darkness dissipated and the Orcs drew a collective sigh of relief.  
”I never thought I'd miss seeing the Sun,” Draumaturz muttered.   
”Why would the ghâshgoths put a spell that harms Orcs?” Graznikh asked. ”I thought we fought on the same side?”  
”It was placed in a time long before Orcs walked this earth,” Záhovar replied. ”The ghâshgoths were beyond life and death; truly immortal and not bound to this existence, they lashed out at all things that were.”  
”But it didn't touch you,” Praktash pointed out with a thoughtful frown. ”Why was that?”  
”Do you not know?” Záhovar whispered. Praktash stared at her for a moment before his face contorted a little and he turned away from the group. Graznikh swallowed and gave her a pained look, unaware that Dînhoth had been studying the silent exchange with great interest.  
  
Now that the air was clear, they could see the enemy camp in the distance. It surrounded a crumbled black stone pillar; behind it, the ground had cracked and the far side of the crack had risen into the air, forming a low wall over which a little waterfall fell.   
”Hey,” Praktash whispered to Graznikh. ”Maybe you should take that ghostlight an' stay here.”  
Graznikh stared at him. ”What?”  
”Well, you're injured, an'-”  
”I'm not staying.”  
”Buddy-”  
”Nar! You leave me behind and I'll go berserk so bad you'll hafta patch up the _trees_ next!!”  
”Let him go,” Záhovar said.  
”But he's injured!” Praktash protested.  
”It has been nearly two months! There is naught but a scar left; he can fight. Besides, the ghostlight only functions so long as it is connected to the Unseen. It would be useless in his hands.”  
Praktash sighed. ”Alright... But I'm keepin' an eye on him! No reckless stuff. I don't wanna have to shove his guts back in after he's gone berserk.”  
”You have my permission to prevent that from happening,” Záhovar replied with a smirk.  
”I'm standing right here, ya know,” Graznikh grumbled. ”And I'm not about to spill my guts afore I've spilled Dachman's.”  
Sulmurz finally managed to undo the knot that held the leather contraption on his face. ”I've had it with wearin' this shit! My teeth're itchin' like crazy!”  
”That means they're healin',” Praktash explained. ”But fine, if you want crooked teeth I'm not gonna stand in your way.”  
”They feel good enough! And I can't aim with this thing in my face.”  
Mikbork and Zosh soon returned from scouting the enemy camp.  
”They's built a fence,” Zosh reported.  
”Izz' called a barricade,” Mikbork corrected her.  
”Whatever.”  
”How many?” Graznikh asked. Mikbork shoved his fingers into the earth at his feet until there were thirty little holes in it. ”That many. Some in armour,” he said and added rings around ten of the holes with a claw. ”They's trying to cover up, but I caught a glint on top o' the ruin. This many with bows.” He added a half-moon shape to five of them.  
”There's others too, but they's got no weapons,” Zosh said. ”Some goes in'n out o' a hole in the ground.”  
”So there could be more underground,” Graznikh concluded. ”I don't like those odds.”  
”What're the patrols like?” Margzat rumbled. ”I'm thinkin' we could sneak someone inside to make a diversion.”  
”No fire,” Záhovar said. ”There may be manuscripts in those tents that could prove crucial for knowing what we may face below.”  
Mikbork frowned. ”How 'bout ice?” He shrank a little as three pairs of eyes fell upon him; Zosh gave him a little shove of encouragement.  
”Explain,” Záhovar commanded.  
”L-lug-durbatar can make ice, right? They's built a little dam above th' waterfall to move a wheel o' some kind; if it goes, there'll be lots o' water, but it could freeze afore it goes to th' tents.”  
Záhovar looked into the distance for a while. ”How far away is this dam?”  
Mikbork and Zosh began to draw again. Soon a crude map had appeared in the black soil, showing the outline of the enemy encampment and the position of the tents, the entrances, the dam and the hole that Zosh had seen, as well as the most recent placement of the armed guards.  
”They're fifteen and we're twelve,” Graznikh mused. ”We could make it.”  
”Sixteen,” Záhovar said.  
”What?”  
”We are sixteen. You did not count me, Dînhoth and the snufflers.”  
”Alright then, twentyfive.”  
”Excuse me?”  
”You're ten warriors all by yourself, âmbal.”  
The Uruks shuffled uncomfortably and Praktash began to snicker. Záhovar gave Graznikh a cool look, but he refused to back down. _So what if they hear? I own this, I'm not letting ya go just 'cause you prefer snaga cock! Just you wait..!_  
”So what's the plan?” Praktash asked loudly to break the uncomfortable silence. Záhovar said her piece and asked for input, but when none was given she gave the order to make ready and wait for the signal to attack.  
  
The tarks were not defenseless but had little to put up against an organised battle unit. Urkhish, Sulmurz and Mikbork picked the archers off from their vantage points in the ruins while Graznikh, Dînhoth, Ghakû and Kraash charged the dam from the flank. A spell of breaking tore the rope hinges off the gate and the Black Uruks fell upon the defenders like a rockslide, butchering all in their way. The Maushur runes on Záhovar's glaive glowed slightly as she spun it and even the slightest scratch made her opponents scream as though they had been branded. The unarmed Men soon panicked and fled in all directions, getting in the way of the guards who desperately tried to hold the large camp.  
Margzat and Mûrnaluzh broke the barred door to one of the ramshackle buildings where a few of the tarks had barricaded themselves and charged in. Margzat's shield blocked a swarm of bolts and before the crossbowmen had managed to reload, the two Uruks fell upon them. The following battle was more of a carnage, one that was over all too soon. Margzat yanked his sword out of a body with a snort and turned to tell Mûrnaluzh about how he might as well have been butchering snaga in the Desolation when the rival Uruk's sword appeared in front of his face. He raised his shield to block but was not fast enough; the blade changed direction and pushed the lower tip of his shield aside, biting into his chest.  
It should have killed him. It would have, if Praktash's dire mace had not appeared from nowhere, thrown like a spear, and crushed Mûrnaluzh's sword hand before he could finish the strike. The sword tugged hard at Margzat's flesh and he roared in pain as he sank to his knees. Praktash casually sauntered in and picked his mace up. Then he turned to face Mûrnaluzh, who was clutching his mangled hand.  
”See this krîtar here?” he asked, pointing at Margzat with the mace. ”That's _mine._ An' frankly, I've had enough of you tryin' to take him from me!”  
Mûrnaluzh opened his mouth to reply in kind. Praktash spun the mace too fast for the eye to follow and the moment it connected with Mûrnaluzh's head, his skull exploded like a dropped egg.  
”Stupid bastard should learn to wear a helmet,” Praktash muttered as he wiped some brain off his cheek. Then he hurried over to Margzat. The krîtar was breathing hard through his nose and weakly tried to push him away. ”Leave it. 'S no bloody use.”  
”Don't be an idiot,” Praktash growled back. He shook his head after examining the wound; it was not lethal, but the sword was stuck fast between two plates in his cuirass. ”That armour needs to go.”  
”Fuck that,” Margzat snarled. ”You've no idea how much was at stake when I won this!”  
”Doesn't matter,” Praktash said. ”It still needs to go. I'll get someone to fetch the tongs.”  
”Ask th' Lug-durbatar to wake this fucker back up,” the krîtar muttered with a nod towards Mûrnaluzh's body. ”I wanna crush his skull myself for this!!”  
”Aren't _you_ bloody cheerful for a guy who just got his chest cleaved open?” Praktash barked before leaving to call for aid.  
  
The rest of Záhovar's little force had gained the upper hand at last. Parts of the dam broke after Kraash chopped through it with his axe, but there was so much mud piled up behind it that the expected flood was little more than a trickle. It did not matter. The last defenders formed a shieldwall around the entrance to the ruin, halting the attack. Záhovar generously offered them a chance to throw down their arms and surrender, an offer that no one took. It was expected; they would have been fools to do so while confronted with twelve leering Orcs and Uruks.  
Dînhoth took a few steps forward, arm raised and ready to throw. As the shield bearers focused on him, they left just enough of an opening for two arrows to reach their targets. The Uruks quickly took advantage of the subsequent confusion and charged. The remaining soldiers were killed to the last man.  
Graznikh spotted the archer hiding on top of a huge stone block but was too far away to do anything as the enemy aimed for his mate. Záhovar cried out as Golnauk leapt at her and pulled her off her feet, roaring in pain as the arrow pierced his side and again as he rolled, breaking the shaft against the ground. The next moment the archer fell with two knives sticking out of the chest. Graznikh nodded to Dînhoth, who responded with a little bow.  
”Leave it,” Golnauk growled weakly as Záhovar tried to pry the arrow out. ”Always figured I'd die on my post; 's not a bad way to go.”  
”You will not die from this,” Záhovar told him.  
Golnauk grinned. ”Gonna raise me back up if I do?” He began to tremble and sweat, but it soon passed. Záhovar met his gaze for a moment before calling for Praktash.  
  
  
Once the battle was over, Záhovar took note of their losses. Praktash had his hands full; Golnauk and Margzat were both in bad shape, Lîrnash had taken a sword to his thigh and Ghakû had been bashed in the face by a shield. There were a number of smaller wounds and scratches as well, but most could be handled with salve and bandages. Mûrnaluzh was dead; he had apparently taken a mace to the back of his head at some point during the battle. Záhovar refrained from looking at Praktash when Margzat gave her the report. _And so, half of the disturbing elements have been dealt with in a satisfactory manner. Only one half left._  
Most of the Men were simple workers who fled in panic when the camp was attacked. Záhovar did not care to hunt them down; they were alone in hostile territory and no one would come to their aid. Instead she ordered those of her Orcs who were still standing to search the tents and bring her any artifacts, jewellery, written paper or parchment they found. ”You may keep all other spoils.”  
The Orcs and Uruks merrily went to work and soon there was a large pile of random things to sift through. The tarks had clearly been digging in the ruins for a long time, and many of the relics had been catalogued and placed in crates, making the search easier. Záhovar also found Dachman's personal notes along with a large collection of atrocious poetry.  
”Get this out of my sight,” she hissed and handed the poetry collection to Graznikh.  
”With pleasure,” he purred as he took it and scowled after looking at the first page. ”Y'know, this shit really gets my inspiration going. 'Tark blood is red, choking turns 'em blue, fuck you Dachman and your poetry too.' Whaddya think?” He chuckled at Záhovar's abhorred expression. ”Fine, I'll stick to what I know. Time for some destructive critique!” He left the tent and Záhovar could see him throw the collection into the fire, one paper at a time, while Sulmurz, Zosh and Mikbork cheered him on and made gagging sounds as he read choice parts of it out loud to them. She returned her attention to her rival's notes, and one passage caught her attention.

” _Day 93, late autumn._

_We have finally broken through the upper levels and come upon architecture much different from that on the surface. It could be early First Age, or even predate it entirely. The marks are especially intriguing; no insects or other lesser living creatures will pass their boundaries unforced, and the workers refuse to remain near them for any longer period of time. I sense a kind of primordial power radiating from them. This correlates with my previous findings, but I cannot be certain until I find the source.”_  
  
Záhovar frowned as she read the passage again. _There is no telling how long ago this 'day 93' was. Perhaps it would be wise to have Mikbork track one of the fled workers down, but I fear there is no time._ She continued reading earlier passages to find a more detailed description of the marks mentioned in the diary, but found nothing. _Perhaps he brought them along for cross-reference when he ventured below._   
  
Meanwhile, Urkhish had finally managed to bend open Margzat's breastplate. Margzat bellowed in pain as the jagged edges were yanked out, shredding skin and flesh where the iron had cut into it. Praktash immediately set to work on cleaning the wound and stitching it, with Draumaturz as volunteering assistant.  
”I'm thinkin' I shoulda let Mûrna finish what he started,” Margzat groaned through gritted teeth.  
”Quit bein' a snaga,” Praktash murmured. ”Like you haven't been through worse.”  
Margzat muttered something incoherent in reply.  
Once he deemed all injuries stable, Praktash could finally sit down and rest. Draumaturz handed him a waterskin without a word and turned his back towards him. After a moment, he glanced back and nodded for Praktash to come closer. Praktash did not understand what he was hinting at; he was already sitting right next to him. Draumaturz shrugged and nodded to Urkhish instead. The black-haired Uruk sat down with his back towards Draumaturz and leaned backwards against him, and only then did Praktash understand. As he leaned backwards as well, the other two moved a little until they were all supported by each other. It was more than just a comfortable resting position; it was yet another way for packmates to bond and show that they literally had each others' backs. Soon he noticed Margzat watching him and discreetly stuck his tongue out at him. Margzat's lips curved slightly, but he did not respond in kind. Praktash found that odd and decided that they were due for a talk about what would come after Dachman was over and done with.  
  
Záhovar sent Graznikh and the Orcs into the ruin to clear it out, only to find that it had been abandoned.  
”They gotta have another entrance,” Graznikh growled when he returned. ”This place is a fucking anthill!”  
”Then choose one location below that is easily defended and fortify it as fast as you can. Uruks; those of you who are healthy will carry the wounded there. Now hurry, before enemy or nightfall returns!”  
Once they were beyond the light of the outside world, Záhovar took one of the ghostlights she had gathered from the camp.  
”Why do we need these?” Praktash asked. ”Will this place be filled with that mist as well?”  
”I doubt it; the spell only touches the surface. But if my guesses and Dachman's notes are correct, we may encounter shadows so deep that only the Unseen can pierce them. This will allow us to do the same, or at least part them enough to reveal whatever they are hiding.”  
”Should we be ready for another fight?” Graznikh asked.  
”Always. We do not know what may have crept up from the deep places below.”  
”Right. So who's going?”  
”I'm thinkin' I should stay,” Margzat rumbled. ”Not really fit for fightin', if ya catch my drift.”  
”I can catch it for ya,” Praktash replied with a wink.  
”All Uruks will stay,” Záhovar said. There were a few disappointed but muffled sounds from the Uruks at hearing this. ”Dachman is a sorcerer, and I do not know his full strength; you will be of little use if you fall to compulsion. Graznikh will come, of course. Sulmurz, Ghakû...” She glared at Kraash. ”Give me one reason why I should bring _you_.”  
”Bait,” Graznikh suggested. ”If things go to the Pits, we can always toss him to the Orc-eaters and leg it.”  
”Thanks, real heartwarming,” Kraash growled.  
”Drop it, you don't even _have_ a heart.”  
”So be it,” Záhovar said, interrupting the brewing fight. ”Kraash will go. Uruks; you will fortify the camp while we are gone. Now-”  
Dînhoth interrupted her, ignoring the hostile looks he received from the Orcs. ”What of me?”  
Záhovar frowned. ”You are not a part of this expedition.”  
”Am I not?” He smiled. ”I am hardly a respected citizen of the Empire anymore; my actions of late have undoubtedly put a price on my head, and I am rather fond of it.”  
”So? Why should we care?” Graznikh asked.  
”I am a better fighter than you.”  
”Why, you..!” Graznikh snarled, but Záhovar silenced him.   
”You have indeed proved rather adept at betrayal and deceit,” she said, ”but that is hardly an endearing quality. If all goes well, we will soon return to Lugburz, a place where you would be little more than an interesting anomaly for the scholars to study.”  
”I have known scholars before,” Dînhoth replied, but hesitated when he noticed Záhovar's leer.  
”The scholars of Blog Shakâmb are a little different from what you are used to,” Praktash said. He leaned in close and whispered a few words in Dînhoth's ear. When he retreated with a serious expression, Dînhoth looked more than a bit uncomfortable. ”I... think I know what you mean. Thank you for the, uhm... clarification.” He turned back to Záhovar. ”Perhaps there is some way in which I could aid you from beyond the border? Have you no need of spies or assassins loyal to yourself, without ulterior motives?”  
” _Everyone_ has ulterior motives. There may be some things you could help me with, but first; prove your worth by aiding me against Dachman.”  
”Your word is my law,” Dînhoth said with a flourishing bow.  
”You gonna leave me behind?” Praktash asked.  
Záhovar gave him a thoughtful look. ”You are the same as they. I cannot afford to lose you.”  
”I'll knock him out if Dachman goes for him,” Graznikh said. ”One rogue Uruk's no problem for me.”  
”Thanks, buddy,” Praktash said caustically. ”Always willin' to resort to violence on my behalf!”  
”My pleasure. It's no more than right that I give a little something back after all the times you've knocked the berserker outta my head.”  
  
  
The Uruks set to work fortifying the underground camp while Záhovar had her little expedition make ready. Graznikh gave the snufflers strict orders to stay behind, while Záhovar briefed Margzat.  
”Keep a close eye on the entrance to the depths,” she instructed. ”There is no telling what our passing may disturb.”  
”I'll place a guard there when ya leave,” Margzat replied with a salute. ”An' at the entrance to upstairs.”  
”No, keep everyone in here. If I am wrong and the miasma reaches below the surface, stay near the ghostlight.”  
”But... If ye're not here to make it glow..?”  
”It will glow. I studied it earlier; this one is different from the others. It is permanently activated somehow, and undoubtedly what kept the guards alive earlier. And it will do so for you too.”  
Margzat nodded slowly while shooting the ghostlight a wary glance. Then his eyes found Praktash. ”Can I..?” Záhovar waved her hand in permission and the greeneyed Uruk shot him a lopsided grin as he approached.  
”So...” Margzat began. ”Gonna break another rule, are ya Bukrazikh?”  
Praktash shrugged. ”I guess the usual rules don't apply to me.”  
”Aye, but goin' up against a High Officer, an' one like Dachman? Can't say I envy ya.”  
Praktash gave him a surprised look. ”Scared, half-troll?”  
”Ya wish,” Margzat replied with a dangerous leer and tousled his hair. ”Nar, just uneasy. I'm thinkin' I don't like watchin' ya trot off to Eye knows where like this.”  
Praktash made a half-hearted attempt to bite him, but the krîtar's words made him melt into his boots a little. Margzat _cared_ about him, and worried for his safety; this was as close to saying outright that he would miss him as the hard-shelled Uruk giant would get in public. He tried to respond in kind, but his voice failed him.  
After a moment, a huge fist tapped his breastplate. ”Bukrazikh? How ya doin'?”  
”Honestly? I feel sick.” Praktash winced as Margzat arched an eyebrow. ”I mean, it's not like things went particularly well the last time I ran into that rhymin' bastard.”  
”The Fence?” Margzat hummed as Praktash nodded. ”Aye, ya were a bit worse for wear back then. I'm thinkin' you've gone far since.”  
Praktash opened his mouth to ask what Margzat meant, but at that moment Záhovar called for him. Before he could take another step, Margzat yanked him back with a possessive snarl and caught his fangs in a passionate kiss.   
”For luck,” he whispered before letting him go with a smouldering leer and a slap on the butt. This time, however, no Uruks laughed or jeered as Praktash ran off.  
  
”Bastard,” Praktash muttered as he caught up with the others. His cheeks burned, but not with embarrassment.  
”Cruuushiiin'...” Graznikh murmured and choked back a snicker as Praktash gave him a shove.  
”Silence!” Záhovar said. ”Be on your guard.”  
The upper levels of the underground construction were carved and sculpted, with smooth, dark walls that were discoloured here and there by water that had seeped in through minuscule cracks in the stone. The halls were huge, big enough to let a troll walk upright with ease. After a while, Graznikh spotted a large scorchmark in the ceiling and alerted Záhovar.  
”I do not know,” she replied when Sulmurz asked what could have started a fire that far up. ”Perhaps a powerful sorcerer attempted to explore here once? Let us move on; this riddle is not for us to find the answer to.”  
A short while later, Ghakû returned from scouting with a warning. ”There's another mark further down,” he said, ”but this time it's on the floor. You, uhh... better go check for yerselves.”  
The mark was huge. The great cargo-wagons pulled by slaves that brought supplies from Thaurband to the northern parts of the Black Land could have fitted inside it with ease.  
”It feels odd,” Praktash said as he knelt beside it. ”A bit like the Black Speech, only not as strong. An' it's shaped like an ox hoof, but with more toes. What is it?”  
”A ghâshgoth track,” Záhovar whispered as she touched the edge. ”I was told they hid beneath the roots of the mountains, but...”  
”A ñgwalaraukô,” Dînhoth whispered, his voice reverent. ”I read about them in one of my tutor's books once. I thought they were a legend, a story made up to frighten children!”  
”Look at the _size_ o' that thing!” Sulmurz exclaimed. ”With one o' those at our side, we'd pick the tarks off in no time!”  
”Keep your voice down, ya idiot! We don't even know if it _is_ on our side yet!” Praktash hissed.  
”We don't even know if it's still alive,” Graznikh said. ”Could be dead, after all this time.”  
”They are as immortal as the Eye,” Záhovar replied. ”And our Master cannot control them. They might join our fight, but only if He Himself asks them and then as allies, not servants. They are too feral and powerful to truly follow any other than our True Master.”  
”Mailikô,” Dînhoth whispered and Záhovar nodded. ”Perhaps... Perhaps it would be wise to let sleeping demons lie?”  
”Nar! Dachman's down there,” Graznikh protested. ”If he thinks he could talk one over, then he must be madder than I thought. And I don't like the thought o' having a grumpy burning demon with a morning wood the size of a bloody tree rampaging through the countryside.” Ghakû snorted at that and Praktash began to wheeze from suppressed laughter. Graznikh shot them both a grin. Even Záhovar's lips twitched and she turned away while muttering something about Orcs and immaturity.  
  
Once everyone's humour was back under control, they continued downwards. Not knowing whether a 'grumpy burning demon' would fall on top of them around the next corner made the mood rather tense. Every sound seem to echo in the silence, and Graznikh felt himself growing more and more nervous. Fighting Men, Dwarves and Elves was one thing. This was something entirely different. He felt as if he had been locked up in the arena with a Nazgûl; a fight which he knew that there was not the slightest chance that he could ever win. So when Ghakû knocked on his armourclad back with a knuckle, he almost pissed his pants. He spun around and let out a wordless hiss into the older Orc's face.  
”Relax,” Ghakû whispered even as he shook with silent laughter. ”Nothing gets better 'cause ye're all taut like bowstrings.” Praktash broke down and had to shove a fist into his mouth to keep from exploding with laughter as Graznikh did an elaborate series of gestures to describe to Ghakû what he was going to do to him once they reached the surface again. Záhovar, however, gave him a small smirk and a nod of approval. Tensions were not nearly as high as before when they began moving again.  
The walls of the large hall slowly grew damper and tiny, luminescent mushrooms sprung up in corners and nooks. Soon they came upon a cavern so large that even with the ghostlight, there was no telling how far away the ceiling or walls were. Faint lights flickered in the distance, indicating that it was big enough to fit a castle. Or a demon.  
”The fuck is this place?” Graznikh whispered. ”The air makes my skin crawl!”  
”The lair,” Záhovar replied. She had placed a hand on the wall; it was completely black and slick, as if the rock itself had melted from intense heat. The obsidian facets within it shimmered in the faint light. ”Be on your guard. The deeper we go, the harder it will be to find the way back out.”  
The Orcs spread out a little. The lights in the distance were enough to let them see clearly in the dark, and Záhovar shrouded herself in Shadow to hide her presence. Slowly they advanced into the vast cavern. The air was completely still but damp, and the sound of dripping water could be heard from both near and far. _Funny,_ Graznikh thought. _If ghâshgoths burn, shouldn't the place be dry?_ Strange pillars reached into the blackness above, but they were not made of any material Graznikh had ever seen. They felt oddly familiar, but he could not figure out why.  
One of the flickering lights turned out to be one of the little glowing mushrooms they had seen on the way down.  
”Don't touch it!” Praktash hissed as Sulmurz reached out to poke it.  
”Why not?”  
”You can't know if it's poisonous or corrosive. For all we know, your hand could melt an' fall off the moment you touch it.”  
Sulmurz yanked his hand back and Praktash chuckled. ”Nar, just kiddin'. Go ahead an' touch it, I'll save ya if you fuck up. For a price.”  
Sulmurz made a face at him but didn't reply. Kraash reached out with the end of his poleaxe and poked the mushroom. It turned out to be a bad idea as the mushroom exploded with a loud bang that echoed and multiplied in the silence and covered them both in sparkly dust. The surprise made Graznikh slip on the glassy floor and fall on his back with a crash.  
”So much for secrecy,” Záhovar hissed from nowhere in particular.  
”Look on the bright side,” Praktash wheezed. ”Sparkles an' Twinkle here can be our baits from now on!”  
Graznikh got back on his feet with a groan. ”You two'll be under Margzat's command on the way back home,” he growled. ”You'll have plenty of time to think about where ya went wrong while you're busy digging holes in the ground and refilling them!” Then he barked an order to move and stomped away with murder on his mind. He felt a surge of dark satisfaction as he finally spotted their quarry.  
  
  
Dachman stood alone beside a gigantic, black form covered in little white crystals near the back of the cavern. The ground was scorched and marred by intense corruption in a large circle around it, and Dachman seemed disappointed. He looked up as Graznikh casually strode closer.  
”Fancy that,” he said amiably. ”That we should meet again here, of all places! But what ruckus you made on the way down... You lack all subtlety. Still, I must say I am curious as to how you found me.”  
”Sniffed ya out,” Graznikh sneered.  
”Yes, I should have known. You Orcs can't keep your noses far above the ground no matter how you try.” He looked back at the carcass. Shadows seemed to be seeping out of every crack like black smoke.  
  
”Alone with the questions, an outcast for many years  
He has seen those marble archways and the avenue of crimson tears  
Now shadows are staring at him but he turns his face away  
They remind him of his true self, gone with the first winter's day.”  
  
Dachman sighed. ”Such a tragic fate for so mighty a being.”  
”It's payback time,” Graznikh growled.  
”Payback? For poetry? Come now, that is hardly a decent reason for a vendetta like this! Surely you can do better than that.”  
”Yup, this is for Whin.”  
”'Whin'?” Dachman frowned.  
”Brown hair, blue eyes, pretty li'l Elf, the one ya captured and tortured!”  
Dachman frowned even deeper. ”If you think that I had anything to do with Záhovar's fate, then you are wrong. And why do you call her that?”  
”This isn't 'bout Záhovar! That haven you burned, by the White Mountains when the Eye invaded the Elf lands! An Elf went rogue, you almost caught her but she disappeared from the camp afore ya even saw her. Remember?”  
Dachman stared at him in confusion for a long while. Then his eyes slowly widened as realisation dawned upon him. ”The rogue Noldo... The warrior who took down the enemy commander and sent their forces scattering but seemingly evaporated into thin air afterwards...” He looked down as he continued to connect the dots. ”And then Agannâlô caught another near the Harnen ford, a supposed spy who ended up in the dungeons... And years later, Záhovar appears, seemingly from nowhere.” His face twisted in anger and spite as he glared at Graznikh. ” _You_ stole my glory! _I_ should have been the one to deliver the Elf, not him!” Then his scowl turned into a grim smirk. ”But I suppose I should thank you for clarifying that one little detail that always puzzled me; the Orc whore was a traitor to her own kind already before the Dark Lord got His hands on her!”  
Graznikh charged with a roar. Dachman's spell made the floor underneath his feet shatter and blasted him into the air; he balled up and rolled as he hit the floor several paces from where he had started. Sulmurz and Ghakû charged as well but were knocked out as they were blasted off their feet while Praktash kept his distance. Kraash was nowhere to be seen.  
Graznikh charged again and again, not caring that the Officer's sorcery kept throwing him further and further away. Dachman could not dictate where he landed, only blast him back, so he made sure not to hit any pillars as he distracted him and drained his focus and strength. Záhovar shielded him and his berserking fed him strength until he felt high. Eventually Dachman must have detected Záhovar's presence because he stopped attacking and shielded himself with a cloaking spell instead as the shadows sprung to life all around him. He laughed softly.  
  
”Spawned wanton like blight on an auspicious night  
Her eyes betray spells of the moon's eerie light  
A disquieting gaze forever ghosting far seas  
Bled white and dead, her true love was fed  
To the ravenous wolves that her sweet scent has led  
From crag-jagged mountains to shape her unease.”  
  
”Keep yer flowery phrases for the funeral,” Graznikh growled.  
”Is it untrue?” Dachman asked. ”Do tell. I do not mind critique, so long as it is constructive.”  
”Oh, I'll give ya critique,” Praktash suddenly growled. ”I remember your voice all too well. You had me framed an' tortured an' left me to rot in Morgai! You had Hîsht sell me out an' tried to kill me!”  
Dachman chuckled. ”Oh, Gîrakûn's little plaything. How fares your mistress?” He smirked at Praktash's challenging roar. ”Let us see how well you can serve _me._ ”  
Praktash stopped short and gasped. Then he closed his eyes and winced as the compulsion spell hit him with full force. He staggered and fell to his knees, sweating and shaking as he fought against something no Black Uruk should be able to resist.   
A movement in the corner of his eye made Graznikh drop to the ground, a mere eyeblink before Kraash's axe sliced the air where his neck should have been, taking a few black tests of matted hair with it. Graznikh spun and kicked where he lay and Kraash fell backwards with a loud curse as his feet were swept out from under him.  
”I'm gonna tear yer eyeballs out, ya backstabbing little shit!!”  
  
Záhovar could not see where Dachman hid, but she could sense where the Unseen bent around him. She grabbed it as though it was a spiderweb and pulled hard, shredding the veil Dachman had summoned about himself and revealing his position. His retaliation was far stronger than she had expected; suddenly she felt like the inside of her head was washed with razors and she screamed as the pain became too intense to bear.  
”Noldorin bitch!” Dachman hissed. ”If you think I will let you steal my glory all over again, then you are sorely mistaken!”  
”You should have thought of that before you went against our Master's will!” Záhovar groaned while gathering strength to beat him back. But her strength drained faster than she could replenish it and her vision slowly grew blurred and red. _He is too strong... I cannot do this without... Graznikh!  
_  
Kraash cackled maniacally as he battered Graznikh with the axe. It was all Graznikh could do to defend himself; he had no time to get a good stab or even get close enough to reach him with his little swords. How someone that unhinged could be that good a fighter was beyond his understanding. Graznikh bitterly realised that the only way he could beat this opponent would be to sacrifice his guard and thus himself, but then he would sacrifice Záhovar and everyone else too.  
In the middle of a thrust, Kraash was distracted by something; he tried to reach behind his back and shook himself as if trying to get rid of something. Graznikh stared in bewilderment as Zosh appeared, seemingly from nowhere, and slit the bigger Orc's throat using the little knife Graznikh had given her. She leapt off as he fell and bolted back into the shadows before Graznikh could react.  
Praktash groaned quietly. That groan slowly increased in strength until it became an Uruk's battle roar and he shot to his feet with bared fangs. ”Try again, little Top One! I'm not that easy to control anymore!”  
Dachman's eyes widened. ”How..?” He scowled as he gathered strength for another attack. Then he suddenly yelled in pain as a black-feathered arrow buried itself in his knee. Praktash's head cleared as the last threads of compulsion unraveled and he turned to stare at Mikbork, who emerged from the shadows near a pillar and lowered his bow with a little smirk. Zosh peeked out from behind him with a bloodthirsty grin.  
”Stoopid tark, too busy lookin' at the big things,” the little Orc said.  
Graznikh took the moment of confusion to leap forward and knock Dachman hard over the head; the High Officer fell unconscious to the ground. Then he gave the snuffler a grateful nod. ”I thought we told ya to stay up topside?”  
Mikbork simply shrugged in reply and pointed at Dachman. Then he squeaked as Praktash scooped him up into his arms.  
”Ohh, nar nar nar!” he squealed as the Uruk planted a big wet kiss on his cheek, but no further violation followed.   
”Never been so happy to see a snaga!” Praktash exclaimed as he put the goblin astride his shoulders with a big grin. ”Here li'l buddy; you get to top an Uruk tonight!”  
  
Záhovar took a deep breath as the pain subsided. She was drained but alive, and promised herself that if they made it out of this alive, a lot of changes would come to whatever stronghold she managed to secure. She stood and walked over to Dachman, who was guarded by Sulmurz and Ghakû. He had awoken and lay writhing on the ground, clutching his injured leg. His face distorted as she approached and the air grew cold, indicating that both embraced the Unseen. He made a last desperate attempt to attack her but she deflected his weak blow with ease. The shadows sprung to life and slowly twined around her feet as the being that was the real Záhovar suddenly emerged from its fleshy shell; all colour faded from her pale skin, her hair and throat bled black and her eyes burst into flame as she reached out with a smoking, scorched hand.  
”Skai, I was hoping she'd let me kill him,” Graznikh murmured as he watched the beaten High Officer recoil in vain from the Shadow's outstretched hand. He let out a thin wail as her fingers brushed his temples, then she beckoned for Graznikh and Praktash to approach.  
”It was me he hunted,” she hissed. ”But you were those he hurt. I have trapped his spirit on the edge of the Wraithworld; this will ensure that he remains alive and aware until his body is utterly spent. Do whatever you want with him. This kill is yours.”  
Graznikh and Praktash shared a glance. Then the Uruk gently put Mikbork back down.  
”I'll let ya back up as soon as I'm done here,” he said. ”You can ride my shoulders all the way back home, if you wanna!”  
Meanwhile, Graznikh's face had cracked up into an insane leer as he squatted beside Dachman and looked into his terror-struck face. ”Oh, I'm gonna have _so_ much fun with you,” Graznikh purred. ”So _very_ much! I hope ya like eagles...” And under the Shadow's watchful eye and the Orcs' cheers, the two of them made sure that there was no pain left unfelt when Dachman finally died.  
  
  
Once her rival's final breath was drawn, Záhovar's form returned to normal and she collapsed with a pained gasp. Graznikh was by her side in an instant, but she soon recovered and staggered to her feet. After accepting the waterskin that Praktash offered her, she went over to the ghâshgoth carcass. With the help of her glaive and a few strikes of Praktash's mace she managed to pull out one of its fangs. She could feel the dark power pulse through her arms as she lifted it. Then she motioned for them all to leave.  
Graznikh stayed beside her as they walked the long way up to the surface. The others were some distance away, so they could talk in private.  
”This is not a live ghâshgoth,” Záhovar said, ”but even a dead one holds great power. Perhaps it and the knowledge we have taken from the Kinn-Lai will be payment enough for eight dead High Officers.”  
”Eight? When did you kill the other five?” Graznikh asked.  
”I did not kill them. You did, before you became my tutor.”  
Graznikh's face fell. ”He held ya accountable for my kills as well?”  
”I requested it so that you would not be killed after you were done tutoring me.”  
”You... What..?”  
”Your life was mine to do with as I pleased; those were His words. So I chose to have you teach me instead of wasting that talent. But there is always a price to pay for such mercy. I chose to pay it in your stead.”  
Graznikh walked the rest of the road in silence, too troubled of mind to speak.   
”I have a request for when we return to the surface,” Záhovar said when they entered the upper levels.  
”Request? Why not just order me around?”  
”Because this is different. I do not want you to say whatever you think will please me the most. Speak the truth. I want to know how you feel. About this. About... us. About everything.”  
Graznikh could not refuse those blue eyes. ”Alright... If I can get a few thoughts from you in return. About... us.”  
  
When they returned to the fortified room a few hours later, night had long since fallen and proven Záhovar right; the miasma remained outside the ruin and the Uruks had had an uneventful time while they were gone. Praktash whimpered a protest as Margzat dropped all pretense of composure and hugged him so hard that he could not breathe. ”If you don't care about me, at least mind your fuckin' chestwound! I can't patch ya back up if I'm dead!” Margzat reluctantly let him go, only to almost fall over as Praktash latched onto his neck with both arms and kissed him. That was enough to make him lose control again; they quickly disappeared out into the hallway to get some privacy.  
”Skai, I need some ghâshpau,” Ghakû muttered and gingerly fingered his swollen face and mashed nose. ”How do I look?”  
”Uglier,” Sulmurz snickered.  
”Don'tcha worry,” Graznikh told him with a grin. ”I'm sure the smiths back in Lugburz can make ya a new nose when we get back!”  
Záhovar walked among the Uruks, eyeing their injuries. Eventually she stopped by Golnauk's side. ”How do you fare?”  
”Been better,” he grunted quietly. Graznikh frowned as he watched; something seemed to pass between them, but he could not tell what.  
”Are you strong enough to march?”  
”If 'at's the command, I'll manage.”  
”It is.” She turned around. ”Krîtar!”  
”He's off with Praktash,” Graznikh told her.  
”Of all the opportunities they've had... Sulmurz!”  
Sulmurz jumped a little. ”Aye..?”  
”Go find Praktash and Margzat and tell them to return here immediately.”  
”But... Aren't they busy with-... Eeep!” Záhovar was upon him like a hawk; Sulmurz swallowed hard as the steel claws closed around his throat.   
”When I give you an order, _Lug-snaga,_ I expect it to be executed without question. Is that clear?”  
”Clear as moonlight,” Sulmurz croaked.  
”Good. Now _go._ ”  
Graznikh watched him scurry off with a lopsided grin. ”Didn'tcha tell Praktash not to touch him?”  
”I did.”  
”Yet you're sending him straight into the Uruk's jaws.”  
”I am.”  
”You're toying with 'em both.”  
”Do you have a complaint to make?”  
”Nope. Just wanted to make sure I understand things.”  
”And do you?”  
”Yup; you're a _tease._ ”  
”Mind your tongue,” Záhovar murmured with a little smile.  
  
Sulmurz cursed under his breath as he set out to find the wayward Uruks. It did not take long; he could hear them long before he saw them and when he _did_ see them, he wished that he had not. Praktash squatted above Margzat's lap, without trousers and loincloth but otherwise fully clothed. Margzat was similarly undressed and lay on his back on the floor, holding Praktash in place with a tight grip on his hips as he drove the giant home with punishing thrusts. How anyone could enjoy having something of _that_ size rammed up his arse was beyond Sulmurz's understanding, but then he couldn't understand why anyone would want _anything_ rammed up their arse. As Praktash spotted the intruder, his open mouth curved into a breathless grin and he moaned even louder. Sulmurz quickly turned around but it was too late; he had already seen things which he could never unsee.  
”Ahh, fuck yeah!!” Praktash moaned. ”Just like that Sully, bend over an' gimme that arse!”  
”What the fuck?!” Margzat snarled. ”You're fuckin' _me,_ not some snaga-” Then he spotted Sulmurz. ”GET THE FUCK OUTTA HERE!!”  
”I _can't,_ ” Sulmurz groaned while pressing his hands to his ears and squeezing his eyes shut.  
”Why the fuck not?!”  
”Officer's orders... We're movin'. You're to get back to the others. Right now.”  
Margzat glared at him for a moment, then he relaxed with a frustrated snort. Praktash dug his clawless fingers into his buttocks. ”Don't you _dare_ pull out!”  
”Bukrazikh... Officer's orders.”  
”Like fuck it is! It's just this little snaga shit tryin' to ruin our fun!”  
”Trust me, I'd rather be snugglin' that ghâshgoth right now,” Sulmurz muttered.  
Margzat tried to pry Praktash's fingers out of his rear, but he held fast. ”I can't _believe_ this!!”  
”Give it up, Bukrazikh. There'll be time for finishin' this later.”  
Praktash whimpered as Margzat pushed him away. Then he shot Sulmurz a venomous glare. ”You'll regret this!”  
”I already do!”  
”An' I'll take this outta your miserable snaga arse instead!” He scrambled to his feet and pounced. Margzat had been pulling his trousers on but dropped them; he caught Praktash by the back straps just before he could reach the cowering Sulmurz.  
”Why the fuck're ya pissed at me for?! Go bark at Záhovar if ya got complaints; I'm just followin' orders!”  
”An' of _course_ you couldn't find the sense to wait 'til we were done, you dick-twiddlin' little lickspittle!”  
”Bukrazikh!” Margzat barked and gave him a hard shake. ”Quit bein' a snaga!” Praktash directed his baleful glare at him and for a moment, Sulmurz thought he would start mouthing back to the krîtar, but then he let out a defeated sigh and surrendered. ”Fine... Let's go.”   
  
The others had already packed up and were ready to leave when they returned. Praktash kept muttering to himself and gave Sulmurz nasty looks as they moved out. The moment they came within sight of the black entrance, Lîrnash stopped abruptly. Golnauk marched right into him and nearly fell over, bellowing in pain. For a moment, the uzhâk was in chaos until Margzat roared for them all to shut up and stand still. Then he glared at Lîrnash. ”What the fuck's yer problem, eh? Forgot the meanin' o' the word 'march'?”  
Lîrnash did not answer. He was staring, transfixed, at the entrance with sweat beading on his slanted forehead.  
Margzat stepped up close. ”Move.”  
Lîrnash slowly shook his head.  
”'S 'at yer final answer?”  
Lîrnash did not answer. Now he reeked of fear. Margzat sighed and reached for the heavy whip at his belt.  
”Wonderful,” Graznikh muttered. ”Now we've got an Uruk who's afraid of the dark too.”  
”Master? Can't we wait until daybreak?” Praktash asked.  
”Would you rather fight Elves under the Sun?”  
”Nar, but...”  
”Ye're still under my command,” Margzat rumbled. ”Make no mistake, Bukrazikh; I won't suffer refusal o' command. He'll march in the ghostlight or he'll get thrown out in the dark; I've no use for disobedience!” He nodded to Urkhish and Draumaturz, who grabbed Lîrnash's arms and began to pull him towards the entrance. Lîrnash resisted at first, but the first lash made him jerk forward with a cry. Step by step Margzat forced him in the right direction, with the other Uruks hollering and jeering at his obvious weakness.  
Praktash kept throwing concerned glances in Lîrnash's direction and started a bit as Graznikh nudged him. ”What?”  
”The uzhâk's the krîtar's business,” Graznikh told him quietly. ”Not ours.”  
”It's my business since I'm the one who has to piece him back together. An' Margzat's bad enough as it is without him overworkin' that cut. We won't stand a chance if the Elves catch us now.”  
”Which is why we must be out of here as fast as possible,” Záhovar said without turning. ”We cannot fight, and so we must run.”  
”Most of us won't be _able_ to run if we push 'em too hard. An' we're almost outta ghâshpau.”  
”And what would you have us do? Stop out in the open, or wait down here until we are completely surrounded?”  
”Nar! Look; forget I said anythin'.”  
She beckoned for him to come closer and Praktash obeyed. ”I understand your concern,” Záhovar quietly told him. ”And believe me, I would have us do as you say if we were not in such danger. We have four pack horses left; they can pull or carry the wounded and give them time to rest. I cannot sacrifice us all for the fears of one single Uruk.”  
Praktash nodded and returned to his place in the uzhâk, but Záhovar's ruthlessness worried him a little. _What if I was the one on the line? You wouldn't sacrifice me like that... Would you?_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first verse that Dachman recites comes from the song ”Coronach” by Eternal Tears Of Sorrow. The second is from ”Thirteen Autumns And A Widow” by Cradle Of Filth. I've made some changes to them to better fit the story, but the credit is all theirs.


	28. Just What He Wanted

When Praktash told the story of their underground adventure around the campfire that night, Urkhish laughed so hard he almost peed himself.  
”Sparkles an' Twinkle,” Draumaturz chuckled.  
”Yeah, an' they were glitterin' like fireflies all the way up! I bet Sully still has some behind his ears.”  
Sulmurz suffered the ridicule in silence while chewing on a ration. Despite the Uruks' mirth, the many injuries and the looming danger of an attack by the elusive Kinn-Lai put a dampener on things.  
”'S too bad there's no meat or ale,” Ghrazagh grumbled as he sat down by the fire. ”We should be bloody celebrating, not sitting here in th' damp!”  
Urkhish and Praktash shared a conspiratory glance, then they both got up and left. Margzat gave them a suspicious look as they went over to one of the bags.  
”Skai, the lock's sturdier than I thought,” Urkhish said after tugging on the lid to the chest he had hauled out. ”Got the key?”  
”Lost it,” Praktash replied cheerfully. ”After you!”  
Urkhish threw him a leer and took a few steps back. Then he threw himself, feet first, against the chest. There was a loud crash as it broke.  
”Still there,” he said once he had finished rubbing his aching feet.  
”Still whole?”  
”What's whole?” Draumaturz called from the fire.  
”The booze flasks,” Praktash shouted back with a grin.  
”There's booze in that chest?!” Orcs and Uruks alike came running from all sides to have a look. ”Why didn'tcha say anything earlier?”  
”'Cause then they'd all be empty,” Praktash replied as if explaining something very simple to a child. ”Really, you should be thankin' me for stoppin' this oaf before he downed it all himself.”  
”I wasn't gonna down it!” Urkhish protested. ”'Sides, I wouldn't be able to. Not _all_ o' it.”

The Orcs and Uruks were soon gathered around the chest, slavering with anticipation as Urkhish and Praktash pulled several sealed flasks, wrapped in straw, out of it. Záhovar chose that moment to appear. ”What are you doing?”  
The Orcs looked up. ”Err... Celebratin'?”  
”As much as I would like to permit that, there is no time. We cannot linger here,” she added as the air filled with disappointed groans. ”There is little point in celebrating if we are all dead come sunrise.”  
”At least we'd die happy...” Draumaturz muttered.  
”Can we bring the chest?” Sulmurz asked.  
Záhovar nodded. ”You may. But do not forget the relics, or the provisions for that matter; we need food as well as drink if we are to outlast the Elves.”  
”I'll see to it,” Margzat rumbled and staggered to his feet.   
”Don't waste yer breath,” Graznikh intervened. ”I'll handle it.”  
”But-”  
”Sit _down_ , krîtar! That's an order! You're no use to us if you get a fever and start seeing flying blue trolls. Ghakû, Urkhish, Draumaturz, you come with me. The rest of ya, get some shut-eye.”  
The two Uruks hesitated at first, but followed him after Margzat barked for them to obey. The others settled down by the fire. They had not bothered to pitch the tent since they were in a rush and had to move fast, but the night was cold so spooning was necessary.  
”Hey, Sully!” Praktash whispered as he snuggled down next to Margzat. ”What's consent?”  
Sulmurz bared his fangs. ”The nickname ya gave the krîtar's karkû?”  
”Liked what you saw, did ya? I know I did.”  
”Sod off.”  
”Then why did you look for so long? Tickled in a way you didn't expect?”  
”I'm not into that shit!”  
”Suuullyyy...”  
”Bukrazikh...” A loud slap could be heard.  
”Oww!! 'Zaaaat!”  
  
Dînhoth quietly approached the High Officer, fully aware that several pairs of eyes and no doubt arrows were trained on his back. ”Excuse me?”  
Záhovar looked up. ”Yes?”  
”Now that my demise is somewhat further off, I would like to thank you for sparing my life,” the half-Elf told her quietly. ”It is more than I deserve.”  
”Let me guess; you came to plead for mercy, because now that my mission is close enough to success I have no further use for you and may come to see you as a string worth cutting?”  
Dînhoth swallowed. ”So Thaurond's servants _can_ read minds,” he whispered in a shaky voice. ”Yet another rumour I deemed impossible but now find confirmed.”  
”No,” she replied with a smirk, ”I cannot read minds, but you are not as subtle as you think. You have proved to be both threat and aid in equal measure, yet I know not where you truly stand. I cannot be certain that you will not turn on me once more and betray me.”  
”I am something of an opportunist, I suppose. Throwing my lot in with the winning side seems the more sensible choice at this point.”  
”That remains to be seen; the Kinn-Lai may yet hunt us down.”  
”We should be safe once we cross the border. The Golden Host are fanatics, and despite all the time I have spent with my ear to the ground lately I have heard no word of the Empress – may She live forever – having any interest in expanding southward. They will not disobey her.”  
”You may want to avoid using that addon in public, especially in Lugburz. There is only one Master, and He does not share power.”  
Dînhoth nodded slowly. ”So what will my fate be?”  
Záhovar studied him for a while before answering. ”When first we met, you offered me your service. Does that offer still stand?”  
”My..? Yes, of course, of course! I would pledge myself to you, if you would have me.”  
”I may have use of a good pair of eyes and ears. There is one whose background and connections I would like to investigate further, without them finding out about it and without it being traced back to me in any way should they find out. This is not an assassination plot, but that does not make it an easy task.”  
”I understand,” Dînhoth replied. ”Covering my tracks is something I excel at, and this would not require me to get close to the intended target. I will be as a shadow among shadows.”  
” _My_ shadow,” Záhovar corrected him. ”Very well. I shall give you further instructions when we reach Rhûn. Do not mention this to the others; a shadow remains silent.”  
Dînhoth nodded and retreated at her request. Záhovar had another mission of a more personal sort to complete.  
  
  
The night was clear, and the moonless night sky was dotted by more stars than Graznikh had seen in years. For some weird reason that he could not figure out, he had missed the sight. Margzat and Praktash lay cuddled up close to each other by the fire, sleeping soundly. On the other side of the fire, Sulmurz had rolled off his bedroll and onto Mikbork's, and the snuffler and his mate had crawled onto his instead. The rest of the band were asleep or huddled around the fire. Graznikh could not sleep, so he had taken first watch. Záhovar's little A-frame tent stood behind him; a part of him wanted to crawl inside and press himself against his mistress so hard that she stopped breathing. Then he had a flashback of the moment in Thaurband when he had thought that he had lost her for real, and quickly subdued that part of himself. He knew full well that this momentary peace would not last, but now that he had some time to himself he found some choice words to say to the one who had dragged them all this far. Far in the distance, the torches around the abandoned dig site still shone like fireflies. One by one, they winked out.  
”Graznikh.”  
He glanced to the side as he heard his name spoken. Záhovar stood behind him, black cloak wrapped around her shoulders to shield from the cold.  
”Thought I was on guard duty,” he grunted.  
”Lîrnash will take your place,” she whispered. ”Come.”  
With another grunt, he stood and followed. She led him away from the camp and out onto a frozen bog. The ground was hard and barren and crunched underneath his feet but not hers.  
”You are upset with me,” Záhovar began but Graznikh interrupted her.  
”You're bloody right I am! I've done all I could to make this go the right way and you've been treating me like-”  
”I am sorry,” she said.  
”The fuck you are,” Graznikh growled. ”You don't even know what 'sorry' means, and I don't give a shit! Why the fuck would you care now when you didn't all the way here?”  
”Because I did not understand.”  
Graznikh stepped close and did not stop until his fangs were inches from her face. ”Didn't understand..? It took ya this bloody long to figure out that you fucked up?!” He almost punched her but managed to restrain himself. Záhovar pressed something to his chest; as he looked down, he saw that it was the whip he had given Sulmurz. He gave her an incredulous scowl. ”What the fuck is this?!”  
”It is no more than I deserve,” Záhovar whispered and there was a tangible hint of grief in her scent. ”I did wrong by you and had you field something that was not yours to field. I am sorry.”  
”And you think whipping ya will make me feel better? Unlike you, I don't get off on making people scream,” he spat. It was a lie, but he did not want to feed those urges, not now.  
”Then what must I do to make you return to me?”  
Graznikh winced. It felt like a knife was slowly twisted in his chest. ”I was here all the fucking time,” he whispered. ”And you never even looked.”  
”I look now. Please... I do not know what to do.” Graznikh frowned as Záhovar broke down more and more with every word. ”What you did in Morigost... What you said, I did not understand it and so it frightened me. If someone suddenly made you feel things you could not even comprehend, opened doors inside you that you did not even know existed, only to have them slam shut in your face again and disappear without a trace, no matter how you fought to keep them open; what would you do?”   
  
_I ran,_ Graznikh thought. _Ran like a coward._ He stared as the tears began to trickle down her cheeks. ”I cannot be something that I am not,” Záhovar whispered, ”but how am I to know what that is when I do not even know who or what I _am_? There is nothing, and that nothing seems to pull me in every direction at once! I must be a High Officer; my existence is forfeit if I do not fulfill His purpose, yet I do not know what that is! Whenever I think I do, everything changes and I must start over. Everyone I ask tells a different story, not only about High Officers, but about _everything_! And I do not know whom to believe... I do not know whom to trust.” She took a deep breath to steady herself. ”None of this is your fault. I apologise for treating you like it was.”  
Graznikh threw the sleeping figures at the camp a quick glance and ignored the twin pairs of yellow-green dots that he spotted. He pulled a dirty cloth rag from his belt and began wiping the Officer's face with it.  
”What are you doing?” Záhovar asked.  
”You'll get frostbite if you keep splashing water all over yer face in this cold,” he murmured. After stuffing the rag back into his belt, he pulled her close and buried his face in her hair.  
”I've bled for ya,” Graznikh whispered as he held her rigid body. ”I've starved and frozen and hurt. I've killed and raped and tortured, Orcs, Men and Elves. I've crossed rivers, seas, mountains, burning deserts and open plains. I marched into a war and soon I'll do it all over again. All for you. Âmbal... And knowing what I do now, if I could start all over... Well, there's a lot I'd do diff'rently, but I'd still do it all for you.”  
”But why?”  
”Fuck me up a tree if I know,” Graznikh growled. ”I don't, and I don't ask. It just is, like the Mountain in Lugburz spits molten rock even though rocks don't burn and the wind stays cold on Gorgoroth despite all the fires.”  
”The Mountain burns because our Master wills it,” Záhovar said with absolute surety.  
”Then maybe I feel like this 'cause He wills that, too. He coulda killed me that night when you were made an Officer. I mean, I'd been fucking His plans up, so why wouldn't He? But instead He gave us the bond back. He wouldn'ta done that if He didn't want us to have it, would He?”  
Záhovar stared at him with wide eyes. ”I did not know... did not see!” She suddenly returned his embrace with equal enthusiasm, and Graznikh felt all his anger and bitterness melt away.  
”It was meant to be,” Záhovar whispered against his shoulder. ”It was meant...”  
”Aye, I guess,” Graznikh murmured against her neck. _Graznikh, ya naughty ol' bastard! That was a real foul move, playing with a gal's feelings like that. But it worked!_  
”May I ask you something?” Záhovar asked after a while.  
”Sure, if I can ask ya back after.”  
”Fair enough. What Dachman said... Did he tell the truth? About my... treachery.”  
Graznikh hesitated a little before he nodded. ”Aye, t'was the truth.”  
”So I was once..?”  
”A golug, aye. I think they call 'emselves Noldor or something like that.”  
”Noldor... they were the Enemy of the True Master. They could have been His most perfect servants, yet they were too arrogant to accept servitude and chose war instead. Much grief could have been avoided had they but had the sense to submit.”  
”I heard they killed other Elves several times,” Graznikh said. ”Slaughtered 'em like cattle, stole their boats, stuff like that. Not all that different from Orcs, if ya ask me. The last time it happened... well, that was all you.”  
”Truly?”  
”Aye. I was there, saw it happen. Helped ya, even.”  
”Why? I was an enemy.”  
Graznikh smiled and brushed her cheek with his fingers. ”For the same reason I help ya now.”  
Záhovar nodded, but then she grew thoughtful. ”So I was an Elf once... but what am I now?”  
”Different,” Graznikh replied with a shrug.  
”Different how?”  
He frowned. ”You're... colder. More ruthless, you don't have the hangups 'bout 'honour' and 'fairness' an' all that shit. Well you do, only... you're a bit more selective. And you're stronger in some ways.” He brushed her temple with a claw. ”But ye're still my âmbal.”  
Záhovar nodded slowly. ”Like the Black Uruks then. It makes sense.”  
”What makes sense?”  
”My change. The Black Uruks are not born the way they are now, they are made. They were all regular Orcs who distinguished themselves in some way; intelligence, skill in battle or command. Seen, chosen and changed with sorcery to better serve the Eye.” As Záhovar finally met his gaze again, there was a confidence in her eyes that Graznikh had not seen before. ”Perhaps... I am to the Elves what Uruks are to the Orcs? Changed to better fulfill His purpose?”  
”Ya better ask someone else that question,” Graznikh said. ”I try not to dig my head too deep in the background stuff. Makes it hard to sleep at night. So... What about you? Whaddya think of... all this? Of us? Is the stuff ya said at Morigost still true?”  
”Some of it,” Záhovar admitted. ”Your devotion still disturbs me a little, but it is... welcome. _You_ are welcome.”  
Graznikh purred as he buried his fingers and face in her hair. ”As are you, âmbal. As you'll always be.”  
”You wanted to ask me something in return.”  
”Mmh,” Graznikh grunted as he rubbed his face against hers. ”Gimme a moment. Bit busy here.” He rubbed, nudged, cuddled and sniffed a bit more. For some reason, her scent had changed a little; it was closer to Whin's, if only by a fraction. Záhovar was tense at first, but then she relaxed into his arms. Graznikh began to purr. ”Skai, I've missed ya...” But the bond was still dead. He took a deep breath and retreated a little.  
”Question, then... Right. What happened at Blog Shakâmb? I know you don't wanna talk about it, but this shit concerns me too. You know I can keep quiet, I won't pass anything along unless you want me to.”  
Záhovar hesitated a while before replying. ”It is... difficult to describe. It may be easier show you, if you would let me.”  
”How's that gonna work?”  
”There are ways.”  
Graznikh nodded. Záhovar led him further away from the camp before kneeling beside a little hollow where a patch of ice covered one of those treacherous, bottomless holes filled with black peat and mud that could swallow the unfortunate without a trace if one misstepped. She used the edge of her cloak to brush the snow away and touched the ice with light fingertips. ”Look into the ice. And whatever you see, do not scream.”  
”Don't worry, I... won't... Shit..!”   
  
Memories are coloured by the mind that experienced the event that formed them. Seeing the depths of Blog Shakâmb through Záhovar's eyes was a disturbing experience, made even more so because her memory of it had been distorted by time and nightmares. Graznikh had felt the invasion and the assaults through the bond, but being given a face to it all was far worse. He felt sick and furious and only Záhovar's stern intervention kept him from going berserk in the end.  
”She fucked with yer mind,” he growled as he stood and began to pace, breathing hard. ”Praktash didn't do that shit to ya; he was with me the whole time!”  
”It was not Praktash,” Záhovar replied. ”Do you remember what I told you about his brother? Look closer.” Graznikh scowled in disgust, but squatted down and tried to study the memory she showed him. At first he did not understand what she meant. It _was_ Praktash, only without the piercings and tattoos and with the wrong hair and eye colour. But the more he focused, the more differences he found. The Uruk in the memory had a more slender frame than Praktash and his face was a little narrower. He looked younger somehow, like an adolescent version of the redhead Uruk that Graznikh was so fond of. He shuddered and turned away. ”How?”  
”You have already seen it,” Záhovar replied in a hushed voice.   
”That green goo?”  
She nodded. ”Who knows how many Uruks have worn that face over the years?”  
”I'm gonna kill that cunt,” Graznikh growled. ”I'm gonna carve the skin off her shrivelling body and feed her to the bats; she'll be crying pus and shitting blood by the time I'm done with her!”  
”You will do no such thing,” Záhovar said. He gave her a vicious snarl, but she stood fast. ”She is far too strong. None of us have any hope of defeating her, and I doubt that we will ever have. Better to stay out of her path and not challenge her; I have already done what I can.”  
”And what _have_ you done?” Graznikh growled. ”That 'deal' ya mentioned?”  
”We shall both see once we return to Lugburz.” Then she frowned. ”I wonder... Could you show me your memories of the... assault?”  
Graznikh did as she asked, slowly recounting the event in his head as she touched his temple. Záhovar's frown deepened and at one point, she gasped. ”Stop!”  
Graznikh did so and she broke contact and turned away with a wraithlike hiss. Graznikh could scarcely remember ever seeing her this angry before.  
”What's wrong? Âmbal?”  
”She did this,” Záhovar hissed. ” _She_ did this!”  
”Who?”  
”Gîrakûn!” She spat the name out as if it was something foul-tasting. ”That assault was not meant for me; she used our bond to get to _you!_ ” She looked around as if searching for something. Then she faded briefly, all colour leeching from her form. She opened her mouth and screamed, and Graznikh fell as if his limbs had suddenly stopped working. The voice that came out of her mouth was not that of a living being. Far into the distance, from the southwest, came an answer in kind. Or perhaps it was an echo.  
Záhovar hissed. For a moment, her eyes were cold as the grave; there was no life left in them, and it frightened Graznikh more than he was willing to admit. ”Âmbal? I don't like that look.” He suppressed a shudder as she met his gaze.  
”She must have found out about the bond when she attacked me,” she said. ”There is no way she could have known about it before... Unless our Master told her, but I doubt it; He told me in the beginning that it was forbidden knowledge for everyone but me. And you, I suppose.” Graznikh looked away as her eyes bored into him. ”I know that you have told others. It is of no matter; you did not know of the ban at the time. But Gîrakûn was not allowed to search... Perhaps her thirst for knowledge has finally formed a trap from which she cannot escape.” Záhovar smiled coldly. ”Perhaps I shall spring it? I would enjoy watching her wriggle.”

  
Despite their wounds, most of the Uruks were well enough to carry their own weight during the march, if only without armour. Praktash took the last of the ghâshpau and divided it between Margzat and Golnauk, since they needed the extra energy and anaesthetic effects it granted the most. Graznikh, Mikbork, Zosh and Akûl did most of the scouting, but saw no sign of pursuers or advancing armies.  
Several strenuous nights of forced marching followed, and all were glad once they reached the blurry border that marked the edge of the dark taiga. Here they hid and rested for a night and a day before setting out again.  
They steered well clear of Ruskârne to avoid the angry Elves. Záhovar doubted that they would accept her explanation no matter how true it was; a marchwarden-in-command being assassinated by a lowly mortal sorcerer was too great a slight to aknowledge for the proud Kinn-Lai. She would be a far more suitable culprit due to her higher status, especially since she suceeded where the marchwarden failed and slew said sorcerer.  
She glanced at Dînhoth where he walked next to Graznikh. The strange half-Orc had been short-spoken since they left the ruins and had mostly guided them down from the plateau in silence. Now he nodded respectfully as he noticed her eyes upon him and came over when she beckoned.  
”My lord Officer,” he greeted quietly with a brief bow as he took up position beside her.  
”How long until we pass the border?”  
Dînhoth smiled a little. ”There are no true borders here. Contested land is what we travel through right now. But if you mean the patch of land currently controlled by southern Men, then we shall soon pass into it. That is, however, the extent of my knowledge about the southern lands, I fear.”  
”We'll take it from here then,” Graznikh grunted. ”Snuffler!”  
Mikbork trotted up to him. At Graznikh's command, he climbed a rowan tree and turned his sensitive nose towards the wind.  
”What is it?” Graznikh called. ”Whaddya smell?”  
”Sea,” Mikbork squeaked. ”Fish'n salt'n rotten seaweed! That way.”  
”Right,” Graznikh nodded. ”You can come back down.” He eyed the horizon. ”So the Sun sets over there, and the wind comes from that direction... Then we should be heading that way.” He pointed towards the southeast.  
  
Praktash had been keeping his eyes on the injured and his already limited supplies of painkillers, bandages and healing salve soon ran out. Golnauk was the first to refuse aid, but he gave no reason for it even when Praktash prodded him about it. Margzat eventually commanded the healer to move on, and Praktash grudgingly obeyed.   
Lîrnash had no physical injuries, but something still seemed off about him. The usually dull Uruk had grown twitchy and even less prone to leave the uzhâk than usual, and now Praktash found him sweating by the fire. ”Hey, Leery? I gotta pee.”  
Lîrnash gave him a glare. ”So?”  
”You don't?”  
Lîrnash hesitated for a moment, but his tightly squeezed-together thighs told an obvious tale. Eventually he caved in and followed.  
”So what's up?” Praktash asked quietly once they were out of earshot. Lîrnash took some time before he answered; he was busy leaning against the tree he was currently defiling with a relieved expression. ”None o' your business.”  
”Sure it is. You've grown twitchy; I'm not the only one to notice that. You'll get in trouble for it soon. An' I'm the migatâr; it's my job to fix folks when they break.”  
”I'm not broken!!” Lîrnash snarled.   
”Then what's your problem?! You jump every time the fire flickers the wrong way!” Praktash lowered his voice again. ”Is this about what happened in those ruins? 'Cause trust me, they didn't leave me feelin' any better.” He lowered his voice even further. ”Did you see the wisps?”  
Lîrnash stared at him for a good long while, as if he was unsure whether Praktash was mocking him or not. When Praktash only returned his glare without so much as a twitch, he broke.  
”L-little white lights,” he whispered, ”bobbin' through th' rock like it was water!”  
”Yeah, movin' through rock but not flesh. But they're gone now. They didn't follow us outta the ruins.”  
”They were all over her,” Lîrnash continued as if he had not heard. ”An' over _you..._ ” He stared at Praktash as if he saw him for the first time. ”Why were they over _you?_ ”  
Praktash's tongue froze in his mouth. Of _course_ Lîrnash would have been able to see that, too. ”No idea. Maybe they liked my pretty face?”  
Lîrnash was caught off-guard and frowned. ”I don't think they could see. Ya... don't think they could see, do ya?”  
”Nar, I didn't see any eyes. They seemed pretty mindless to me.”  
”What if they were Orcs?”  
”...What?”  
”What if they were?” Lîrnash repeated, his eyes shining with insane insistency. ”That golug said weird stuff happened to Orcs in there. When that black thing touched me, I... I _heard_ them, whisperin', screamin', but like they were all far away!” He began to tremble. ”'Waitin', waitin'... an' somethin' about winning.” He frowned. ”Win what? Why would they want to win?”  
”You sure you weren't just imaginin' things?” Praktash tried.  
”I KNOW WHAT I HEARD!!” Lîrnash screamed, making the other Uruk jump back.  
”What the fuck is goin' on here?!” Margzat barked as he came trotting.   
Lîrnash jerked as if he had been stabbed and the madness drained from his eyes. ”Nothin'!”  
Margzat threw him a suspicious look.  
”Just a disagreement on that half-golug pet we're draggin' around,” Praktash lied. The krîtar eyed him for a moment before nodding.  
”Right. Get yer arses back to camp; we're movin'.” Both Uruks obeyed, but Lîrnash managed to hiss 'I know what I heard' one last time before following his commander. Praktash felt a cold chill run down his spine. ' _Win'. Or 'Whin'? Shit..._  
  
  
A few nights later, they came upon a farmstead. It had been recently abandoned; perhaps the previous owners had given up the struggle against the stony soil and left for richer lands, or perhaps they had been driven off by brigands who had not cared to burn the place while looting it. Whatever the reason for its abandonment, the roof and walls were still whole and the chimney solid, which meant that Záhovar and her following would have a warm and dry place to rest for a while, at long last. Even the horses could rest easy, for the barn was in similar shape and there was some hay left in one of the sheds.  
”Finally,” Graznikh groaned as he put down his heavy load and stretched. ”I'm gonna sleep like a rock!”  
”We all are,” Praktash chirped as he walked in with an armful of straw.  
”What're you up to now?”  
”Bedding,” Urkhish replied as he and Draumaturz followed the healer. They dumped their loads in a corner of the room. The house was small, with one single room and a small loft near the ceiling. What little furniture remained had been smashed, and Golnauk had taken the task of splintering it even further to make tinder. Meanwhile, Praktash, Urkhish and Draumaturz brought in more and more straw which they then covered with the tent cloth, creating a thick, soft bed at a safe distance from the open fireplace. No one was in the mood to stay up longer than necessary; once cold, wet armours had been tended to, food had been eaten and one of the ale casks emptied to the last drop, they bundled up in the straw; all except Mikbork and Zosh who climbed up to the loft and conveniently forgot to tell the others about the large pile of old sheepskins that had been stored there. Even Dînhoth received a spot as Praktash's cuddle-toy, a spot that the half-Elf did not seem at all displeased with.  
  
The next morning the sky was cloudy, which meant that the Orcs and Uruks could rest out in the open air for a change. One by one they left the shack until only Sulmurz, Dînhoth and Praktash were left. Sulmurz was still snoring loudly when Praktash ditched Dînhoth to snuggle up to him instead.  
Sulmurz jerked awake. ”D'ya mind?!”  
Praktash gave him a saintly smile. ”What? I wanted this spot.”  
”You've got the whole bed!”  
”But yours is so soft an' warm...”  
”Get yer paws off me!!”  
”Then why the fuck d'you stick so close all the time?!”  
”If I had a token for every time I have heard that...” Dînhoth murmured without opening his eyes.  
”Y'know, I meant to ask about that,” Praktash said after Sulmurz had punched his way out of his embrace and escaped. ”What's it like livin' among Elves? Are they as stuck up as they sound, or are there pointy-eared orgies behind every tree?”  
Dînhoth laughed. ”Mailikô, no! I have never seen or heard of any one of my father's kin ever acting upon such urges. Ever the steadfast ones... Which makes me wonder what kind of depraved creature my father was.”  
”You never met him?”  
”No, it was just me and my mother... Until she sold me, that is.”  
”Sold ya?”  
Dînhoth nodded. ”Into scholarship, if you can believe it. She was quite mad, you see; thoroughly convinced that my father was some high lord of the West and that his son would be too. So she sold me to an old scholar who needed someone to swipe the floor, wash his smallclothes and bring him more wine.” He smirked. ”Does it surprise you to hear that I ran away at the first opportunity?”  
”Not a bit,” Praktash grinned. ”So what's with the cloak an' dagger stuff? You didn't learn that while swipin' floors, did ya?”  
”Hardly. I was Miniia; mistrusted by all. Orcs thought me a weakling and Elves were appalled by my very existence; for all the marchwarden's flowery talk, Orcs do not have an easy time in the Empire and halfbreeds even less so. I had nothing but the clothes on my body, a knife I had stolen when I ran away and whatever food I could beg or steal from the gardeners. Eventually I took to the road and my feet brought me to one of the larger cities, where I was caught up in a local dispute between two merchant groups that soon turned bloody. I see well enough in the dark and can climb almost anything, so I broke into one of their store houses during an attack and got myself caught. Their leader decided that I was of more use to her alive, and... I'm sure you can figure the rest out on your own.”  
”So she didn't see your pretty face an' thought she'd get herself some?”  
Dînhoth frowned. ”Some of my... face? No, no she didn't. I thought you said my face was ugly?”  
”It is,” Praktash grinned. ”Pretty _is_ ugly.”  
”And my hopes grow ever dimmer...”  
”Chin up, Dinner! If Orcs cared for looks, I wouldn't get any either. Nor would my master, come to think of it.”  
”So she... 'gets it' from you?”  
”Well... not all of me, but Graznikh an' Sully serves her right.”  
”I... see.”  
Praktash chuckled. ”Are you blushin'?”  
Dînhoth's eyes widened slightly. ”No!”  
”Can see your cheeks darkenin'..! It's cute.”  
”I am not..!” Dînhoth cleared his throat and sat up. ”I... I need some... Excuse me.”  
Praktash watched him hurry out of the house. There was a thud outside and a few muttered excuses; the next moment, Záhovar entered. ”What have you done now?”  
”Nothin',” Praktash purred and stretched leisurely. ”Just asked him a few questions, is all. But I guess the topic was too juicy for him.”  
She gave his semi-nude form a critical glance. ”Do you intend to spend all day in bed?”  
”Yup! I haven't had a proper wank in ages, an' unless someone cares to help me out, that's exactly what I'm gonna have. Why, d'ya need me elsewhere?”  
”No, I suppose not. Enjoy, then.” She turned to leave.  
”Wait.”  
Záhovar stopped in the doorway. ”Yes?”  
”Have you ever sucked cock before?” Praktash chuckled at her incredulous stare.  
”Why do you ask me that kind of question?”  
”Curious.”  
”...No, I have not.”  
”Well, you should learn! It's a good thing to know.”  
Záhovar arched an eyebrow. ”And why would I want to know that?”  
”'Cause at some point, you might wanna pay my buddy back for all the tongue an' cock he's been givin' ya. Or maybe you want him to do somethin' that y'know he's gonna whine about. Trust me, givin' him some mouth shuts him up like nothin' else. An' if you're gonna learn, might as well do it from someone who won't ram it down your throat the moment you get it right. Plus it's a _clean_ one.” He motioned towards his crotch.  
”And you are not suggesting this simply to be able to brag that you made a High Officer suck you off?”  
”Aww Kafsokhôr, what _ever_ makes ya think that? Think of the possibilities! With this skillset you could wrap _anyone_ 'round your finger, just like that!”  
”Why would I need to when I can simply order _you_ to do it for me?”  
”Now you're just bein' Officery!” Praktash accused with a pout. Then he grinned and went over to his pack. ”Maybe this'll help ya make up your mind?”  
Záhovar's eyes widened slightly as he hauled up a bottle of Dorwinion White. ”How did you..?”  
”Graz told me all 'bout it,” he murmured, ”an' I figured I might as well get my hands on some, see what makes it so bloody special. Still haven't figured it out, but I guess I can get more next time we pass there.” He held the bottle out to her with a leer. ”We're safe enough now, aren't we? You deserve some rest. An' if you do the other thing, I'll make it up to ya well an' good after.”  
Záhovar hesitated. Were they safe enough? Dared she let her guard down and lose control in this manner?  
”Where're the others?” Praktash whispered as he embraced her from behind.  
”Those who were able to hunt are doing so. The others are resting outside.”  
”So they've got eyes on the surroundin's an' we've got some proper privacy. We might not get another chance like this, Záza...” His leer widened as she took the bottle.  
”I suspect I shall regret this come the morrow.”  
”Regrettin' stuff you've done is better than regrettin' what you never did. Here; I'll open it for ya!”  
She shied away as he smashed the top of the bottle against the mantlepiece.  
  


Soon they were snuggled down among the blankets, Praktash with his booze skin and Záhovar with her bottle.  
”We really should do this more often.”  
”There will be plenty of time for it once we are back in Lugburz.”  
”Yeah, I can't wait.” He grinned. ”We're gonna need a bigger bed if we're gonna fit both Sully an' 'Zat into it.”  
Záhovar giggled. ”Perhaps I should commission a new tower? Though I fear the head of the quartermasters would have a seizure if I did.”  
”Great! Then we can all stand around him an' point an' laugh. Then you can take over.”  
”And do what?”  
”I can think of a few things...”  
”Details, Lug-snaga! 'A few things' is not particularly specific.”  
”Curious, are ya? Fine. Build a wall along the eastern border. That'd give the tarks an' rebels pause.”  
Záhovar gave him a horrified look. ”And where would we get the resources and manpower to do _that?_ Those gates in the northern and western passes are costly enough!”  
”So? Make the tarks pay for it!”  
Záhovar paused her drinking to give him a strange look. Then she giggled. ”In retrospect, perhaps... With lives being the currency.”  
”Ruthless!” Praktash purred and stretched out beside her. ”I like that... As long as I'm not on the receivin' end.”  
”No,” Záhovar replied with a mischievous smile. ”Clearly you prefer to be on the receiving end of other things.”  
Praktash snickered at that. ”Good job, Záza! That was almost a dick joke!”  
Záhovar laughed a little and shook her head. ”This drink is insidious; I can feel its effect already.”  
Praktash took a mouthful. After moving it around with a thoughtful look, he swallowed and winced. ”Funny, it doesn't taste like it should have that effect at all. Kinda bland, really.”  
”Sulmurz said the same.”  
”At least he's got taste in booze. Might've taken him for a hopeless case if he didn't.” He grinned as Záhovar laughed. ”Speakin' of receivin'... You up for some?”  
”Should you not be one who's 'up'?”  
”Yes!! That was a good one!” He leaned in close. ”I'm also the best teacher you'll ever get...”  
”Very well,” Záhovar murmured back. ”Teach me, then.”  
Praktash got to his feet with a big grin. ”Alright! Gimme a moment, just need to get hard in places...”  
”Would it not be easier if it was softer, at first?”   
”What, you want me to go easy on ya? What kinda Officer are you?” He chuckled. ”'Sides, I need to focus on somethin' else to get it up at all. Nothin' personal.”  
”No offense taken.” Then she gave him a mischievous little smile. ”Why not pretend that I am Sulmurz? Would that make things different?”  
Praktash laughed out loud. ”Oh, now you're bein' nasty!” He closed his eyes with a leer. ”Yeah, that might work. Might work right nicely..!” He tugged himself vigorously and soon he was fully erect.   
”There we go,” he purred and gave it an appreciative look. ”Pretty, isn't it?”  
”You did not make it,” Záhovar pointed out.  
”Nar, but it's mine an' I know how to use it. Might as well be glad about _some_ part of myself.” He came closer and ran a finger along her jawline. ”So... Let's get this started, shall we?”  
”And how would we go about such a thing?”  
”Easiest to start with would be you on your knees an' me standin' in front of ya. That way I can get a good look at your technique an' help with the angle an' such.”  
”You make this sound far more complicated that it seems,” Záhovar commented as she knelt on the floor.  
Praktash laughed. ”Everythin' looks easy when y'know how to do it!”  
”Knowledge is power. Why give this away?”  
”'Cause you'll never be as good as me,” Praktash replied with an insolent leer. ”Besides, it's one little step towards makin' this little idea real that I've been workin' on for a while.” He chuckled at Záhovar's raised eyebrow. ”The plan is, we're gonna chain him up in the dungeon. Then we'll nibble, suck, lick an' whatever all over him 'til he goes berserk from feelin' so good.”  
”Now that _is_ a worthwhile goal,” Záhovar murmured. ”Who exactly-”  
”Glad y'think so! Now open up; we don't have all day.”  
Praktash closed his eyes and rocked back on his heels as Záhovar hesitantly opened her mouth. ”Go slow at first, get used to the taste. Don't bother with tryin' to please me or anythin'; this here's just a practice round.”

Despite being newly washed, Praktash's cock still had a strong, pungent odour and an even stronger taste. After a few licks, Záhovar had to withdraw and spit. ”It is... quite overpowering.”  
”You'll get used to it.”  
Záhovar steeled herself, but Praktash was right. The taste did not diminish in the slightest, but the longer she suffered it, the more accustomed she grew. Praktash kept squeaking and snorting and as she looked up, she found that he was biting his lip. ”Why do you sound like that?”  
”Could you not scrape your teeth on the head? That shit's _not_ nice!”  
”I am gaping as wide as I can!”  
”Then your angle's off. Open up, I'll show ya.”  
Záhovar opened her mouth and allowed Praktash to pinch her jaw and steer her back onto his cock. Then he tilted her head back and forth.  
”Feel the difference? Like this, it doesn't matter how much you open up; it'll still scratch. Like this is easier, and like _this_ you can take it all the way down your throat later. Sure, you'll still choke on it at first; you'll gag, maybe throw up too before you get the hang of it. But it won't hurt ya. At least I think it won't.”   
Záhovar gave him a quizzical look.  
”Well, I don't how what you look like in there! Orcs an' Uruks I've sliced open, seen how they're built. I can't really do that with _you_.” He leered. ”I guess this'll count as another kind of examination.”  
”What will?” She could say no more; Praktash's hand suddenly turned into a fist in her hair and pushed her forward, forcing his cock far deeper down her throat than she had ever taken it before. She dug her nails into his hips and tried to pull away, but to no avail. She could not _breathe..._ Then he withdrew and she could finally take a ragged breath.  
”You..!” she hissed once she could speak. ”How _dare_ you?!”  
”What?” Praktash asked calmly. ”Like you haven't had tough teachers before? I remember watchin' as Graz made ya eat dirt more often than not when he started trainin' ya; you thought I'd be any different? You've grown softer than I thought if you can't handle a little discomfort!” Then he shrugged. ”But if you're not up for the challenge, then fine. At least I know.”  
Záhovar glared darkly at him for a while, and Praktash began to wonder if he had misstepped for real. But then she leered. ”Think you that I am not able to handle whatever you may throw my way? Then allow me to prove you wrong, Uruk! Test my limits, if you wish! You shall not find me wanting.”  
Praktash beamed at her. ”Now _that's_ the Záza I know! C'mon then; lesson's not over yet!”  
  
There was a choked sound by the door and Praktash glanced over his shoulder with a sly grin. Golnauk had frozen in mid-step and was staring at the scene with a look of mingled horror and excitement on his face. Záhovar attempted to withdraw, but Praktash held her steady.  
”Don't read anythin' into it,” he told the old Uruk. ”This is a lesson in humility, nothin' more.”  
”Uh... huh.” Golnauk began to back away.  
”Oh, don't go! Feel free to watch, if you wanna.”   
Golnauk gave him an unsure grin. ”You might be 'at kind o' guy, but I'm not keen on testin' my luck.”  
Záhovar finally managed to untangle Praktash's hand. ”Not even if you have my explicit permission?”  
Golnauk stared at her for a moment, but then he shrugged. ”Always said I'd do everything at least once, if I got the chance.”  
”Sounds like a plan,” Praktash purred. He waited until Golnauk had made himself comfortable in a corner of the makeshift bed before lying down as well. ”Let's try a different position,” he told Záhovar, ”since you're doin' so well.”  
Golnauk knew better than to ask questions in a situation such as this. He quickly pulled his trousers off to take advantage of the unexpected privilege. Praktash motioned for Záhovar to straddle his shoulders and pushed her up until she stood on all fours above him. Then he pulled her trousers down and made her reach for his cock while he fingered her.  
”Now here's the deal; whenever you do the right thing, I'll make ya feel good. The better you work that cock, the better you'll feel. Have at it!”  
Záhovar did not particularly enjoy being on the receiving side of this humiliating game, but she had further plans and ignored the discomfort. Having Golnauk nearby seemed to help Praktash as well; he soon grew harder. Now and then he urged her to take him deeper, expertly pushing her limits and instructing her on how and when to relax and how to use her tongue and lips for the best effect. Whenever her performance was satisfactory, he flicked his fingers across her sensitive parts until she was squirming with delight. Golnauk tugged himself vigorously to the sight and brought Praktash closer to his own peak; Záhovar could feel the change in taste and texture. The old Uruk obviously sensed it as well; he locked eyes with Praktash and did a lewd little performance of his own. Praktash's eyes soon rolled back; unconsciously he grabbed his master's neck and forced his way down her throat, choking her with his semen even as his fingers brought her over the peak. Golnauk came as well at the sight.  
  
Záhovar came to her senses a short while later.  
”Master?” Praktash chirped cheerfully. ”You back?”  
Záhovar tried to reply, but the first breath only made her gurgle and retch up black spunk. Praktash and Golnauk quickly dragged her over to the edge of the bed so that she did not soil it further.  
”Skai, she's a tough one,” Golnauk muttered with an impressed look. ”I've seen folks die from less.”  
”That's the deal with Top Ones,” Praktash explained. ”They're made of sterner stuff than us regular grunts.”  
Golnauk hummed thoughtfully. Záhovar had soon finished coughing and accepted the bottle of Dorwinian wine from her Lug-snaga.  
”So, master. You done?”  
She shook her head and threw herself flat on her belly on the bed. ”Hardly. As... _precise_ as your fingers are, I find myself in the mood for something a little _rougher._ ” She lifted her hips in an inviting gesture and Praktash laughed. ”Say, Golly? Y'want some?”  
Golnauk's eyes narrowed as he tried to figure out whether he was serious or not. ”What say the Lug-durbatar?”  
”You have everything you need already, ushatâr,” Záhovar told him with a seductive little smile. ”But still you deserve a reward for being my shield. If this is all I have to offer, then so be it.”  
Golnauk hesitated only a moment longer before crawling over to her. ”O' all the High Officers I've toiled under, ye're the queerest,” he murmured. He paused as Záhovar planted a little foot against his scarred abdomen.  
”Yet toil under me you will,” she replied. ”On your back, Uruk!”  
Golnauk obeyed with a chuckle. He folded his arms behind his head and watched her with a contented leer as Praktash fondled his chest, abs and thighs while giving his cock little teasing licks. The old Uruk did not have Margzat's intimidating frame; he was of a lean and wiry build, but was still taller than most other Uruks. Záhovar looked even smaller than she actually was where she stood over his sinewy thighs, feet planted wide on each side of them to give him a good view.  
”Ye're a downright loyal snaga, aren'tcha?” he purred and gave Praktash's rear a fond slap.  
”As are we all,” Praktash replied. ”An' if my master wants to rut every Uruk in Lugburz, I'll be there, knockin' 'em over an' strappin' 'em down for her!”  
Golnauk laughed out loud at that. Then he gave Záhovar a hungry look as she removed what little clothing remained on her form at a leisurely pace and gave his meaty member a contemplative look. Praktash palmed and stroked it slowly for her. Golnauk placed a hand on her ankle to encourage her.  
”I cannot help but think that this will an exercise in resilience,” she murmured.  
”I concur,” Golnauk purred, groaning as he inhaled her scent. His thighs were already trembling slightly from restraint.   
”I shall ask only once, so prepare yourself; front,” she ran a hand across her breasts and down between her legs, ”or back?” She turned around and presented her backside to him. Golnauk leered and pointed.  
”Good choice,” Praktash whispered as Záhovar backed up and moved to mount him. She moaned as she tried to push down; he was indeed a terrifying specimen and even slick as they both were, there was quite a bit of resistance. Golnauk grabbed her rear, his hands big enough to almost reach around her hips, and gave her some support as she positioned herself. Then she nodded and he began to lower her down.   
”Hold out now, ushatarkû,” Praktash purred teasingly. ”You don't wanna disappoint her, do ya?”  
”This ain't my first,” Golnauk gasped. Záhovar cried out as he dropped her the last inch or so, but now she was finally flush against his groin. He chuckled breathlessly. ”Never thought I'd live to see this...”  
”Loyalty deserves recompense, think you not?” Záhovar murmured. She leaned back and dug her nails into Golnauk's chest. Despite clawing as hard as she could, she barely left a mark in his thick, leathery hide. Still, Golnauk clearly enjoyed it. He rumbled and lifted her hips, used his legs for leverage and began to thrust slow and deep. ”Fuck, she's tight!”  
  
Záhovar wondered if she would be able to enjoy the ordeal. His girth and thick, calloused foreskin, riddled with scars, caused more pain than pleasure even at this slow pace and she braced herself for the moment when he would begin to thrust in earnest. Praktash stretched out beside them, fondling himself but keeping a close eye, ready to intervene if things got out of hand.  
Suddenly Golnauk yanked her close and rolled over until he was on top, inadvertently shoving Praktash off the furs with a yelp in the process. Before Záhovar could react, her breath was pushed out of her lungs as he impaled her fully. Instead of hammering away, he remained deep within, thrusting rapidly with little jerking movements and then pulling almost all the way out, impaling her again and repeating the pattern.  
Praktash sat up. ”What the f-..?” he began, but paused when Záhovar's first ecstatic moan was heard over Golnauk's grunting. ”...Oh! Alright then.”  
Golnauk was not gentle with her; he spread her legs with his knees and locked her arms above her head with an iron grip, using them for leverage. Záhovar spat a curse in Orcish and lifted her hips to meet his thrusts; Golnauk chuckled hoarsely and mumbled lewd little remarks in her ear. A familiar hand suddenly appeared between her legs and she felt her climax approach ever faster until there was no holding back; Golnauk buried himself to the hilt and rumbled like a rockslide as her body clenched his cock.  
Praktash chuckled. ”Was it everythin' you hoped it would be?”  
Golnauk only grinned where he lay.  
”Done already?” Záhovar teased, looking completely unphased. Golnauk's leer widened as he began to roll his hips.  
”You're gonna wear him out,” Praktash laughed. ”Leave some for me to play with!”  
”Gonna get yer fill Ghâshkaum,” Golnauk grunted as he began to thrust anew. ”More than ya asked for... In due time..!”  
The grin faded a little on Praktash's face, but Golnauk failed to notice. As he picked up the pace, Záhovar tilted her head to look at him and all of a sudden he could see nothing else. Those cold, blue eyes grew in intensity, cradled his fading being and the ice within them matched the chill spreading through his veins even as he thundered towards the final peak. The world seemed to slow down and in the edges of his vision, the flicker of flames slowly grew in strength. No orgasm had ever felt sweeter or drained him more thoroughly. When the throes finally ended, he rolled over and saw no more.  
  
When Golnauk pulled out, Praktash noticed that the old Uruk's face was contorted in pain, his skin slick with a sheen of sweat. ”Golly? What's wrong?”  
”Don't bother, Ghâshkaum,” Golnauk hissed through gritted teeth. ”Got just what... I wanted...” He inhaled sharply. ”Don't... trust..!” He had no time to finish the sentence before he sighed. The next breath never came.  
”Golnauk?” Praktash shoved him hard. ”Golnauk, for fuck's sake, don't do this to me!!”  
Záhovar placed a hand on his arm. ”Praktash... He is gone.”  
Praktash could not take it in. ”But he was fine! He was just _fine!!”_  
”No, he was not. He was dying already when we left Rhûn.”  
”Why didn't you tell me?!”  
”Because there was nothing you could do! Nothing _anyone_ could do.”  
”How d' _you_ know?”  
”Because I felt it. He had hopes that the arrow that was meant for me would kill him, and when it did not... I asked him about it the night after the battle, and he preferred to keep his dignity. He wanted it this way.”  
”But...” Praktash looked back at Golnauk's body. ”He was... Fuck..!”  
A movement in the doorway caught Záhovar's attention; Margzat was watching them with a hardset expression.  
”I take it you heard my words?” she asked.  
Margzat nodded. ”I'll inform the others.”  
  
  
The Uruks stripped Golnauk's body before moving it out into one of the sheds. As Praktash pulled his boots off, he noticed that besides numerous untreated chafes, he also had severe frostbite on one foot and had lost two toes. Golnauk had been suffering in silence for a long while.  
It was too much. No matter how he fought, the tears just wouldn't stop coming.  
”Ye're slowin' us down,” Ghrazagh commented.  
”Shut up,” Praktash hissed. Ghrazagh turned to glance at Margzat.  
”Bukrazikh... Get outta here.”  
”I can work! Just gimme a-”  
Margzat was up close in an instant. ”I said get. Out.”  
Praktash glared at him with bloodshot eyes, then he fled. He did not need to look back; he could feel their eyes burning into his back all the way. _They don't get it. Of course they don't; I'm the weird one here. The one who doesn't fit in._  
A short while later, Graznikh found him behind the cabin, hard at work emptying what was left of the ale.  
”Just leave me the fuck alone...”  
”You know, I don't think I will. You need help here.”  
Praktash gave him a baleful glare. ”An' what the _fuck_ d'you know, snaga?!”  
”Well you can't finish all that by yourself, can ya?” he grunted while plopping down beside him. ”Here; give us some.”  
After a moment's hesitation, Praktash nearly threw the large bottle at him. They sat like that for a while, passing the bottle back and forth, the silence only broken by scattered sobs from the miserable Uruk.  
”I'm such a worthless piece o' shit...” Praktash whispered.  
”Yup,” Graznikh replied laconically. Praktash glanced suspiciously at him.  
”I mean, how dare you?” Graznikh continued. ”Saving the lives o' both me, Sulmurz'n Záhovar? Not to mention a bunch of other dumb fucks who probably weren't expected to make it back alive from this trip anyway? Some fucking gall.”  
Praktash's expression grew sheepish. ”That's not what I meant.”  
”I know,” Graznikh grinned. ”Doesn't make it any less true. Some worthless fucking lifesaver, you are.”  
”I hate you!” Praktash punched his arm and made him both laugh and grunt in pain. But he did not laugh himself. ”How come losin' Golnauk doesn't bother the others?”  
”Sure it does, in different ways. Yours is weird, but I can't say it's worse than the rest. If I've learned anything in all this time, it's this; you crash'n burn, but when that passes you get back up, brush yerself off and move on stronger than before. It doesn't fester in ya like it does for the rest of us.”  
”Doesn't make it any easier to deal with...”  
”It sure does for me,” Graznikh teased. ”If you hadn't been such a special little snowflake, you probably woulda stolen my boots'n more that first time we met.”  
”What the fuck does that even mean?”  
”It's a long story.”  
Praktash gave him a confused frown, then he smiled a little. ”How come you get all this an' they don't?”  
”'Cause they're idiots and I'm not.”  
”You smug bastard!”  
Graznikh chuckled and then choked a little as the Uruk grabbed his neck and pulled him close. They sat close for a moment and as he looked into those impossibly green eyes, Graznikh felt himself falling into them all over again. ”I should go check on our master. She's taking this just as personally as you do, and you know how Sulmurz is; he just can't handle this shit.”  
”Tell me 'bout it,” Praktash muttered as he stood. ”Let's go find her; I could do with some three-way snugglin' right now.” Just as he turned to leave, he thought he heard a sound from the other side of the wall, but thought little of it.  
  
Much later, Ghrazagh laughed out loud as he sat down by the fire. ”Well, he sure got what he wanted, the ol' rutter!”  
”Whaddya talking about?” Graznikh asked.  
Urkhish chuckled. ”He always used to say he was so old there were only two ways left for him to go; fighting or fucking. Sounds like he managed both.”  
”Your companion just died,” Dînhoth commented. ”Should you not show his memory some respect?”  
”Whaddya know, golug?”  
”I am no-”  
”Golnauk was a soldier,” Margzat rumbled. ”He knew he was dyin' an' he made the best o' it. Snivelin' o'er his corpse like some tark bint, 'at'd be disrespect.” He shot Praktash a very telling glance and the healer straightened up a little where he stood in the door, glaring defiantly in return.

 


	29. Cracks In The Facade

They traveled through the night. Lîrnash lost it when the Moon disappeared behind a cloud and Margzat had to flog him into submission before he harmed anyone other than himself. The delay was significant as Praktash insisted on stopping the bleeding as well as giving Lîrnash something for the concussion he had received when headbutting a tree. When they stopped for the next day, Margzat went for a piss and Praktash followed.  
”Come to sneak a peek, Bukrazikh?”  
”If you've a problem with me, then out with it! That jab was fuckin' unnecessary!”  
”So was sobbin' over a dead Uruk.”  
”So I'm not a stonefaced bastard like you; deal with it!”  
”I'm thinkin' I am,” Margzat sneered as he pushed past him. At first, Praktash ran after him and blocked his way with a snarl.  
”Have I done somethin' to piss you off? Why're you so grumpy all of a sudden?”  
”First the fussin' over Lîrnash, an' now ye're sobbin' for Golnauk? Grow some claws, Bukrazikh!”  
”Look who's talkin'! So I care about not gettin' buried under a pile of work 'cause of your inability to keep your soldiers outta harm's way!”  
”It's war!! Folks get injured in war, folks _die_ in war! It's yer fuckin' job to stitch 'em back together, 'at's the only reason ye're here!”  
”An' 'cause I'm smarter than the lot of ya put together. I've got work aplenty without you tearin' their skin off for bein' cautious! An' yeah, losin' Golnauk was a bit of a punch in the gut; maybe you should stop actin' like it wasn't!” He held his ground as the growling krîtar closed in.  
”Golnauk'n me were shieldmates long afore ya were dry behind the ears, pup! Don't fuckin' tell me how I should or shouldn't care!!”  
Praktash stared at Margzat's back as he began to walk away. ”'Zat..? What's wrong? Seriously!”  
Margzat shrugged without answering. He stopped as Praktash moved to stand in his way again. ”Look... I get it. You're pissed. About Golnauk, about Lîrnash, about havin' to run from those pointy-eared blighters... It's been a rough couple weeks, an' we're all tense. But... Y'don't hafta shut me out. I'm not judgin'!”  
Margzat gave him an unreadable look. ”Lotsa big changes comin'. I just need to think. 'Bout... stuff. Alone.”  
”Right,” Praktash replied rapidly. ”I'll try not to... cling.”  
Margzat did not reply, but gave him the kind of grin that made him all fuzzy inside and punched his shoulder lightly. Praktash found it hard to back away and leave him to it.  
  
Záhovar watched Praktash shove Draumaturz out of the way and sit down by the fire. Golnauk's last words still gnawed on her mind. _'Don't trust', he said. Do not trust whom? Mûrnaluzh is dead, as is Kraash. He was Margzat's confidante; will_ he _be the next to betray us?_ She found that hard to believe; of all her current followers, Margzat was the most steadfast and law-abiding.   
Graznikh squatted beside her. ”Had a fun ride?”  
”Not precisely.”  
”Nar? Fucking folks to death isn't your thing?”  
”This is not an opportune time for making light of the situation.”  
”If I'd known you liked it _that_ rough, I'd... Actually I don't know what I woulda done.”  
”Graznikh... Do not.”  
”Alright!” he said as the collar grew cold. ”Right...” He leered a little as she glanced at him.  
”Tell me something.”  
”Anything.”  
”Of those who are in our company at the moment, who would you say is the least trustworthy?”  
” _Least_ trustworthy? Dînhoth, for sure.”  
” _Except_ for him.”  
Graznikh frowned. ”Ghakû's a shifty one... I know he was in good with Kraash or the other way around. He didn't lift a finger to help him back below ground, but... I dunno. I've no idea where he stands.”  
”Do you think he could betray us?”  
”For the right price, I think most here would. Why, you think we got another turncoat?”  
She did not reply but for once, Graznikh could read her concerned face like an open book.  
  
  
One night, Zosh had had enough of the dreary mood. ”So now that we's done wi'v all the tricky stuff, can we get to the important part?”  
A few disinterested glances were aimed in her general direction.  
”What's so important?” Praktash asked.  
”Th' cookin' contest, o' course!” Zosh gave the others a stern look and ignored Mikbork's fervent attempts to make her shut up. ”Forgotten already?”  
”Almost,” Praktash grinned. ”But now you've gone an' reminded me. Graz? You up for it?”  
”Sure,” Graznikh said with a lopsided grin. ”I'm in. Anyone else?”  
”What'll we cook with?” Draumaturz asked.  
”Whatever you can find,” Graznikh replied. ”You got helmets, right? They'll make great pots. Shields're pans for frying if you're more into that.”  
”An Orcish cooking contest?” Dînhoth beamed. ”This shall be a most interesting evening!”  
”It sure will,” Praktash leered. ”Especially since you'll be judgin' it.”  
Dînhoth's face fell. ”I'm... what?”  
”Well, the rest of us'll be participating, and we can't bloody well ask the High Officer! That leaves you.”  
”But-”  
”'At's a great idea!” Mikbork squeaked. ”After all, Dinner's not part of the team. He's imported.”  
Everyone stared in confusion.  
”I... can't disagree with that,” Dînhoth said slowly, looking utterly bewildered. ”'Dinner'?”  
”Well, at's yer name, innit?”  
”Dînhoth,” Dînhoth said reservedly. ”My name is Dînhoth, _not_ 'Dinner'!”  
Both snufflers shared a glance. ”Whazzat mean?”  
Dînhoth gave them a look of disdain. ”Orc.”  
”Hold on a moment,” Praktash said. ”Your mum, who was an Orc, named ya 'Orc'?” He snorted loudly as Dînhoth nodded and began to laugh.  
”Well, that sure sounds imported,” Graznikh snickered. Sulmurz and Ghakû were already gasping for air.  
Dînhoth gave Záhovar a helpless glance. ”Are they always like this?”  
”Only as long as they lack an enemy to fight,” she replied with a fond look towards the snickering Orcs.  
”Lugburz must be a place where there is no end to the mirth,” Dînhoth muttered back.  
”Right then,” Praktash chuckled once he had regained his composure. ”So Dinner'll be the judge-”  
”You will _not_ call me that!” Dînhoth protested.  
”Shut down an' sit up, Dinner!” Praktash snapped back, still grinning. ”I'll call ya whatever I want!”  
”Is that so? Care to discuss it in close quarters?”  
”Whatever do you mean?”  
Dînhoth's only reply was to pull a knife from somewhere within his loose clothing, twirl it between his fingers and then making it disappear again.  
”Oooh,” Praktash leered.   
”So Dinner wants to fight?” Margzat bared his fangs in a predatory grin. ”Think ya can take me, hmm?”  
”Perhaps not,” Dînhoth drawled, ”but can _you_ take _me?_ While you do look a bit on the large side, how wide can you stretch?”  
Margzat's grin faded a little. ”What?”  
”You did say ”take me”,” Dînhoth explained with a smile that was a little too friendly. ”I simply assumed that you intended for me to take certain parts of you inside certain parts of me, and suggested an alternate route.”  
Margzat looked even more confused, but allowed the snickering Praktash to pull him back down.  
”Forget it,” he told Dînhoth. ”You can't handle this big a guy!” He gave the krîtar a warm leer. ”I'm the only one who can treat him right.”  
”I do not doubt it...”  
”What; you wanna compare sizes now? Turn this cookin' contest into a real cockfight?”  
”That'd spice up the stew, fer sure,” Margzat chuckled.  
”Why is this always happenin'?” Sulmurz moaned. ”It doesn't matter what we're talking about, we always end up in his crotch!”  
”Y'know you like it,” Praktash purred.  
”Piss off!”  
”Don't mind him,” Praktash told Dînhoth. ”Sully here's a bit uptight. He's been _so_ close to gettin' balled _so_ many times, but he always cockblocks himself in the end.”  
”I just want food,” Sulmurz muttered with a forlorn expression.  
”So how 'bout Dinner?” Zosh chirped. ”Ee's right over there!”  
”Get the fuck outta here!” Sulmurz swiped after her, but she only squealed with laughter as she bounded up into the nearest tree.  
”I _like_ that snaga!” Praktash exclaimed.  
”Arright, back to business,” Margzat rumbled mirthfully. ”Food it is.”  
”Aye,” Draumaturz chuckled. ”From the looks of it, the first course'll be to gargle on the ol' Blog Shakâmb blood sausage!”  
The camp erupted and this time, not even Sulmurz could keep from laughing.   
  
Eventually they all managed to focus long enough to get the cooking contest going. Dînhoth was the unwilling judge while Zosh, Graznikh, Draumaturz, Urkhish and Margzat were the contestants. The krîtar had refused to participate at first, claiming that since he was the commander, he should keep some distance from the activities of the grunts. Praktash had eventually convinced him otherwise using Graznikh as an example and now the big Uruk was obsessing over his pot with the look of one who had everything to lose.  
Záhovar, Praktash, Mikbork, Ghrazagh, Lîrnash and Ghakû made up the audience, with the latter five shouting encouraging jeers to the participants and threw them ingredients from the stores. Margzat made an attempt to steal herbs from Praktash's drug stores but only managed to earn himself a severe pummelling as the furious healer went berserk on him with a leek. Margzat eventually snatched it from him and fled back to his pot.  
”Hold up there!” Dînhoth called as he spotted Draumaturz and Urkhish whispering together. ”No cheating!”  
”We're not cheating,” Draumaturz protested. ”We're shieldmates!”  
”Why would you need a shieldmate in a cooking contest?”  
Draumaturz and Urkhish shared a look.  
”Does it matter?” Zosh asked. ”They's outnumbered anyway.”  
Dînhoth frowned. ”How are they _outnumbered?_ There is only one for each of the other pots!”  
”They's this many,” Zosh explained while holding up two fingers, ”and we's this many,” she held up three fingers with her other hand, dropping a clump of very unwell-aged cheese in her pot as she did so. ”Simple. Innit, Mickey?” Mikbork nodded vigorously.   
Dînhoth gave them a helpless look. ”But..?”  
”The logic of Orcs is very straightforward at times, think you not?” Záhovar said with a smirk.  
”'Course he doesn't get it,” Sulmurz sneered. ”He only half an Orc, the twisted twat. N-no offense meant,” he stuttered as Záhovar gave him a chilly glance.  
Graznikh had no intention of winning; he had only joined because Ghakû had dragged him into it that first time it was mentioned and because if he refused, Margzat would back out as well. Since most of their provisions consisted of vegetables given by the Elves, he decided to try the stew Whindaër used to make on the trail. It was easy enough and he nurtured a tiny hope that the smell would jog Záhovar's memory.

Zosh was taking things as seriously as the rest, but the way she went about things was cause for some concern. She had clearly prepared for a long time, for she dug out most of the ingredients from the innumerable little pockets and pouches that she had added to her clothing over time. Now she threw a handful of lard into her helmet-pot, waited until it had melted somewhat and begun to smoke and then added some half dried, half rotten mushrooms which she had saved from her little adventure in Rhûn, along with bulbous roots that she had dug out of the black sand in the Thaurband harbour.  
”Those roots aren't edible,” Ghakû told her.  
”My pot my rules!”  
Ghakû shrugged. Zosh stuck her tongue out at him and with a ceremonious gesture, she dumped a large lump of squashed, moldy cheese into the pot. With every glance in her direction, Dînhoth looked more and more concerned and his worries were not alleviated by Urkhish's and Draumaturz's snickering as they fussed over the shield they used as a frying pan.   
”Hold on now!” he exclaimed when Mikbork tried to hand her something. ”That most definitely is cheating!”  
”Nar, 's not,” Zosh protested. ”'Ee's just helping me hold onto some ingruli-... ingderi... stuff.”  
In a futile attempt to strengthen her case, Mikbork held the 'stuff' up; it was a large bat, its head mangled from being repeatedly hit by some blunt object.  
”How long have you been 'holding on' to that thing?!”  
Both snufflers' eyes glazed over for a moment as they tried to remember. Then Mikbork shrugged, sliced the bat's belly open and handed it to Zosh, who promptly began tearing slimy intestines out and adding them to her pot. Despite his dark complexion, Dînhoth began to look slightly green.  
  
Margzat gave the snufflers a look that spoke plainer than any words could about his opinion of snaga and their general conduct. ”Right; I'm done.”  
”Will an ocular sampling be sufficient to determine the victor?” Dînhoth asked faintly.  
”Whazz an ocumantis?” Mikbork asked.  
”I want one too,” Zosh chimed in.  
”How d'ya know it won't tear yer arms off?” Sulmurz asked her with a sneer.   
The snufflers glanced hesitantly at each other. ”Izz'e daft?”  
”Maybe? Probably?”  
”I beg your pardon?!” Dînhoth snarled.  
”Are we doin' this or not?” Margzat growled.  
”But I'm not done yet!” Zosh complained. ”It needs ta boil more.”  
”If 'at sludge boils any longer, it'll lose the flavour,” Draumaturz pointed out.   
”Then I vote for a prolonging of this competition,” Dînhoth said quickly.  
”This isn't up for votes,” Margzat told him. Then he nodded for Ghrazagh and Lîrnash. ”Get 'im!”  
Dînhoth was fast, but taken by surprise he was not quite fast enough; after a brief but merry chase, the snickering Uruks dragged the judge back into the clearing. Soon, Dînhoth was on his knees in the damp grass and watched with growing horror as four bowls were placed before him.  
”I hope my loyalty is duly noted,” he said as the first dish was poured into the first bowl. It happened to be the one Draumaturz and Urkhish had cooked.  
”Indeed it is,” Záhovar replied with a cruel little smile. ”And it shall be rewarded, in this world or the next.”  
”Much appreciated. Oh, Mailikô have mercy..!”  
”Eat,” Ghrazagh commanded.   
Dînhoth took the bowl and lifted a spoonful of the soggy, stringy mass, eyeing it carefully. ”Is this grass..?” After a moment's hesitation he tried some and chewed thoughtfully. ”Not too...” Then his eyes grew round. ”Mailikô, it burns!!”  
Urkhish and Draumaturz howled with laughter as the half-Elf spat and whimpered. Praktash handed him a waterskin which he promptly emptied. ”It does not work! Sweet mercy, make it stop..!”  
”What did you put in it?” Praktash asked the snickering duo.  
”Ghost pepper,” Urkhish managed to say before he broke down again.   
”What?! You idiots! That shit burns your tongue off, how's he supposed to be able to taste anythin' after this?”  
”Well that means we win, don't we?” Draumaturz guffawed.  
”Most... definitely not!” Dînhoth managed to hiss. He was drooling from both mouth and nose and his eyes watered profusely. Praktash sighed and went to fetch his healer's bag. The drug blend he used to spike Záhovar's ghâshpau with turned out to work on half-Elves as well, despite it being mixed with regular ale instead. After a brief wait to allow the judge to recover, the next dish was presented. It was Margzat's, and Dînhoth hummed with appreciation as he ate.   
”I must say, this is surprisingly good,” he said. ”A bit too oily, but-”  
”Soldiers need energy for the march,” Margzat protested.  
”Yes, but-”  
”I won't have 'em live on leaves the way ya golug do.”  
”No, but-”  
”That shit isn't fillin'!”  
”Yours is _always_ fillin'!” Praktash chimed in.   
Dînhoth choked a little on his food. ”May I finish? Much appreciated. Like I said, a bit too oily, but not offensively so. Good amount of salt. The spices are unfamiliar to me, but unlike the previous dish they blend in nicely with the fat and the meat. All in all, not too bad.”  
”Not too..?!” Margzat began, but Záhovar commanded him to not interfere with the jury's verdict. He shut his mouth and returned to his place with an insulted scowl. The next dish was Graznikh's; Dînhoth lit up before he had even tasted it.  
”Now this is curious,” he murmured as he sipped the broth. ”Not too much mushrooms to overtake the taste of the spring onions, just enough salt... What _is_ that spice?”  
”Lovage'n ramson root,” Graznikh replied.  
”Ramson _root?_ ” Dînhoth laughed a little. ”I had no idea the root was edible. It... _is_ edible, correct?”  
”Sure is,” Graznikh chuckled with a sidelong glance at Záhovar. ”At least I've never gone sick from it.”  
”Since when did you start eating horse feed?” Sulmurz asked.  
”Since I learned what 'hungry' was. Like you've never eaten stuff you weren't keen on rather than go without food?”  
”I know somethin' he can eat any time he likes,” Praktash purred and earned himself a vicious curse. ”What?! I was goin' to say 'Záhovar'!”  
”Of _course_ ya were, ya disgustin'-”  
”Moving on,” Dînhoth said rapidly before things got out of hand. Then he remembered whose dish was next. ”Or perhaps... No.”  
  
Zosh looked perversely pleased with herself as she carried her contribution to the contest from the fire. Dînhoth gave the greyish goo a look of dismay.   
”If... If I do not survive this, remember that I want yellow flowers planted around my cairn.”  
”Yer what?”  
”Oh, for the love of jackdaws..!” Dînhoth winced. Even the sound as Zosh poured the 'stew' into the bowl was disgusting. Taking it from her was a display of great resolve.  
”Izz' a family recipe,” Zosh explained with a grin.  
”They cannot have lasted long...”  
”Wha'?”  
”Never mind...” Dînhoth sent a fervent prayer to his deity before opening his mouth and stuffing the spoonful in it. Then he squeezed his eyes shut; tears were already forming in them.  
”C'mon golug,” Ghrazagh leered. ”It won't count if ya don't swallow!”  
After some choked gagging, Dînhoth finally managed to do as told. Then he let out a gurgling sound and ran for cover, followed by crass laughter. He was soon followed by a hysterically snickering Praktash who promised that he would make sure that he did not die from food poisoning before he could give his verdict.  
”Anyone else?” Zosh chirped.  
”Not me,” Graznikh said. ”I've learned my lesson.”  
Sulmurz took a sip and spat it out almost as fast. ”Skai, it's like a mûmak just shat in my mouth!!”  
”A what?” Mikbork asked.  
”Some kind o' creature with a cock for a snout,” Draumaturz explained with a sneer. ”Praktash told us all about it.” He shot the spitting Orc a 'come-hither' leer that immediately made him put Záhovar and Graznikh between himself and the Uruks. Draumaturz only snickered.  
  
Meanwhile, Dînhoth lay bent over a log and was endeavouring to empty all of the past week's rations behind it.  
”I gotta say, that was bloody impressive,” Praktash told him. ”I wouldn'ta gone through with that.”  
Dînhoth took a shuddering breath. ”I shall regret this to the end of my days...”  
Praktash chuckled. ”So you're not pissed?”  
Dînhoth spat. ”No, I am not... 'pissed'. Though I do believe you owe me for tormenting me thus!”  
”Fine, if you insist.” His eyes narrowed. ”Say... have you decided on a winner yet?”  
”Winner?” He chuckled mirthlessly. ”The only one even remotely palatable was your paleskinned colleague's, though I'm loathe to give such credit to someone who so obviously puts no effort into his cooking.”  
”I've got an idea to help ya with that...” He leaned in close and whispered something in Dînhoth's ear. The half-Elf frowned at first, but then his brow smoothed out and he gave Praktash a sly look.   
”That is a very cruel thing to do! ...Could I get away with it?”  
”Sure, just look oblivious; you're good at that.”  
”You are too kind,” Dînhoth muttered.  
”Took ya long enough,” Graznikh commented when Praktash returned. ”How's he doing back there?”  
”He's stopped gaggin',” Praktash replied with a bright smile. ”He'll be fine.”  
”Almost had us thinkin' ya were greasin' him up,” Margzat rumbled.   
”Aww, but 'Zaaat! Y'know I've a taste for thicker meat, no need to worry!”  
Margzat opened his mouth to reply in kind, but fell silent when Dînhoth cleared his throat to get everyone's attention.   
”I believe I have come to a verdict,” the half-Orc loudly proclaimed. ”All of the submissions were impressive, to say the least, and I must express my-”  
”Just get to the point,” Urkhish barked.  
”I... Yes. I proclaim the winner of this cooking competition to be... Zosh!”  
Zosh whooped with glee, but Margzat's face fell. ”What?!” Dînhoth inadvertently took a step back as he advanced.   
”'At snaga made ya retch!” the krîtar snarled.  
”That she did,” Dînhoth replied with a beaming smile. ”And I do _not_ have a weak stomach! Very impressive.”  
Margzat glared at him while clenching and unclenching his fists. At first it looked like he would punch him, but then he turned away. ”Shoulda known better than to let a golug be th' judge..!”  
Dînhoth looked around. ”Was this not a contest to decide who could make the most unpalatable dish? To decide who was the worst cook?”  
Margzat froze in mid-step. No one dared to laugh. Slowly, he turned around just enough to give the half-Elf a venomous look. ” _You..!_ ”  
”I didn't do it,” Dînhoth replied quickly.  
”'Course ya didn't,” Margzat growled. ”Ye're not stupid enough!” He searched the crowd, but his target was nowhere in sight. ”There's only one dumb enough to pull this kind o' prank off, an' when I get my hands on 'im..!”  
  
  
Praktash dragged Graznikh away from the crime scene at speed.  
”He's gonna kill me,” he snickered breathlessly as he caught his breath against a tree.  
”Not if I have a say,” Graznikh replied as he squatted with his back against a rock. ”But you might wanna show throat for a while. Was this a smart thing to do when you're already at odds?”  
”We're not at odds! He's just got cold feet about bendin' over for Záza, is all.”  
”You don't care 'bout what Golnauk said?”  
”...She told ya, didn't she? Look; he was dyin'! It coulda meant anythin'. 'Don't trust the trees', or 'don't trust that quarter of the rations, they've gone bad'.”  
”Fine. But I'll keep an eye out in yer place, if you won't watch your own back.”  
Praktash sank down beside him and smiled. ”You always do... Don't pile too much on those nice, sturdy shoulders of yours.” Graznikh closed his eyes as Praktash ran a finger along his ear. ”So what about you an' Záza? I saw ya talkin' the other night.”  
”Aye, we... I dunno. I don't dare to be happy about the way things're going. Feels like every time I do, they go straight to the Pits again.”  
”But it won't! Can'tcha let yourself rest a little?”  
”Nar, I can't! It's coming back, I felt it after we killed Dachman. Whatever spell she put on me's fading. I already hafta guard my tongue around her.”  
”Aw, shit..!” Praktash groaned.  
”It's different this time,” Graznikh said. ”Now that I know how it feels, I think I can control it better.” He gave him a reassuring grin. ”Relax, buddy. It won't be like last time, not if I can help it.”  
Praktash returned the grin. ”Y'know; of all the nicknames others seem so fond of givin' me, yours is the best.”  
Graznikh frowned a little. ”Why?”  
”'Cause it doesn't set me apart. The others, like 'Ghâshkaum' or 'Bukrazikh'; they point out all the stuff that's different about me. 'Buddy' doesn't; it makes me feel like I belong.” He snickered at Graznikh's warm look. ”Listen to me, gettin' all sappy!”  
”I kinda _like_ that sap..!”  
Praktsash purred as Graznikh leaned in close and sent a familiar hot rush to his loins. He grabbed his neck with one hand and used the other for support as he slowly leaned back and down, pulling the blackhaired Orc with him.  
”You sure this is a good time?” Graznikh murmured.  
”It's the _best_ time,” Praktash replied. ”I just wanna fuck someone who doesn't bitch about me actin' all wrong all the time...”  
”No strings attached, eh?”  
Praktash withdrew a little. ”Your strings're _fine._ They've always been.”  
”Now you're just being cute with me.”  
”So?” Praktash bumped his blunt nose against his cheekbone. ”Doesn't make it any less true.”  
Teasing hands soon grew more insistent and both Orcs got rid of their armour as quickly as they could. Praktash purred as Graznikh ran his claws down his spine and bit his neck with a possessive growl. ”Top or bottom?”  
”You top.”  
Graznikh chuckled. ”You've grown to like being the bottom fuck, haven'tcha?”  
”With you as the top, how could I resist? Why, you miss it?”  
”Nar, I've always been more of a top guy. But you're not concerned the others'll hear ya?”  
Praktash took both their loincloths, wrapped them into a bundle and stuffed a part of it into his mouth with a grin. Graznikh laughed at the sight and reached for his belt pocket.  
”Take your time,” came the muffled warning as he began to coat his fingers with lube. ”It was a while since last.”  
”Makes it all the better, doesn't it?” he purred back. His fingers soon began to coax delighted sighs and purrs from his redhead. Praktash moaned and tensed up as they found that special spot inside and teased it until he could no longer think straight. Graznikh tugged his own cock with the other hand and soon replaced the fingers. Praktash looked back at him; the black, shaggy hair had fallen forward, nearly covering his face and all he could make out clearly was those red, glowing eyes that bored into his own as he was mounted. Slow at first, searching for the right angle and pace until he managed to squeeze out a ”there..!” amid the panting and gasping. Graznikh bared his fangs and picked up the pace; gasps soon turned to moans and Praktash bit down hard on the leather bundle as he pushed him past all self-control.  
”Oh _fuuuck,_ ” he groaned and cried out as Graznikh clawed his back and thrust faster. ”I'm goin' crazyyy!!”  
”Izzat so?” Graznikh purred. ”Then maybe I should slow down a li'l...”  
”Don't you _dare!!_ ” Praktash shouted into the moss. Graznikh's rasping chuckle nearly sent him over the edge. This was beyond good.  
  
Praktash had never really had a long-term relationship with anyone before he met Graznikh. Sure, there had been several return fucks, but they had never progressed beyond the purely physical. Before, Praktash had figured that fucking the same guy over and over would kill the excitement after a while, when all experimenting was over and there was nothing new to try. But now he had been with Graznikh for years and the sex was still just as good as it had been the first time. Better even; now that they knew each others' little quirks and fancies, they knew just how to drive each other crazy. And right now, Graznikh was doing a bloody fine job of it. A slight change of angle made Praktash's eyes flutter shut and his jaws clatter.  
”I'm counting to five,” Graznikh gasped as he pulled him closer and grabbed his cock.  
”Nar!!”  
”One, two, three, four-” He did not get further before Praktash came with a bellow. ”Thought you were supposed to be quiet, buddy!”  
”Shut... Shut up!” Praktash gasped once he returned to his senses and shot him a euphoric grin.  
”Had enough yet?”  
”Was that a serious question? You haven't even spunked twice yet! I'm startin' to think you're holdin' out on me!”  
”Oh, the makatok wants the avalanche, does he?”  
”I sure do,” Praktash purred and rolled his hips. ”C'mon trênotar, fuck me like a snaga!”  
”You bet I w-... Oh. Nice to meet ya.”  
Praktash frowned. _What?_ The sky seemed to darken and his core froze to ice as he looked up and locked eyes with Margzat, who was leaning against a tree with his arms folded across his chest, looking at them as if he was unsure of whether he should kill Praktash, Graznikh or himself first.  
Praktash gave him the guiltiest, most faked grin ever. ”Hey krîtar!”  
”So 'at's how it is, izzit?” the krîtar rumbled quietly. He snorted quietly when Praktash nodded, then he turned and left.  
”Well...” Graznikh muttered after a moment. ”That was a bit o' a dampener.” He made a move to pull out, but Praktash caught his thigh and held him in place. Graznikh frowned. ”Buddy?”  
”Don't go,” Praktash murmured and gave him a pained look. ”Dont'cha fuckin' _dare_ leave me now! Go on, don't hold back. I need this shit now. I need _you!_ ”  
Graznikh nodded. He moved a little to the side and lifted Praktash's leg, flipping him over until they were facing each other. ”Let's do it like this then. You said this takes your mind off all else.”  
Praktash gave him a little grin that was far more genuine that what he had given Margzat. Then Graznikh started thrusting again and Praktash let himself and all the shitty world go. He did not even care to keep his voice down.  
  
Afterwards, Graznikh returned to camp alone.  
”Where's the krîtar?” he asked Záhovar quietly as he squatted beside her and glared at Zosh until she bolted.  
”He left a while ago. I do not know where he is now.” She frowned as Graznikh winced. ”Why do you ask?”  
He threw the uzhâk a glance to make sure they were out of earshot. ”He caught us fucking. Me on top. Ya know what they're like, with the whole 'Uruks're better' deal. I'd wager he didn't take it all that well.”  
”Do you fear that he might do something foolish?”  
”Not sure. I've never been good at reading that one.”  
”Then why are you here and not with Praktash?”  
”Err...”  
  


Praktash jumped down the high bank of the river and landed in the shallows with a splash. After dropping his armour and clothes on the bank's edge, he squatted down and began to wash the lube and spunk off. _Not lookin' forward to goin' back to camp,_ he thought. _Not at all. Fuck you 'Zat, why've you gone all creepy-stalky all of a sudden?_ A sound from behind made him look up. As he spotted Margzat sitting on the bank, he fell backwards into the water with a surprised yelp.  
”What the fuck is _wrong_ with ya?!” Praktash snarled once he had regained his footing.  
”Shouldn't be alone out here,” Margzat rumbled without taking his eyes off the knife he was holding. ”Might be enemies about.”  
”I know how to defend myself.”  
Margzat's lip curled in a half-grin. ”Do ya now?”  
”Again; what the fuck is wrong with ya? You've been actin' all weird ever since we left the Elves!”  
Margzat did not reply, but took out a whetstone and began to sharpen the knife.  
”Is that supposed to scare me?” Praktash sneered as he climbed the bank.  
”Don't need a knife to do that.”  
”Ha. Ha, ha. Very funny. Piss off then.”  
Margzat lowered the whetstone with a low growl. ”So when'd ya plan on tellin' me?”  
”Tellin' you _what?_ ”  
”Ya bloody know what I'm talkin' 'bout!”  
”I told you we were fuckin' before we'd even left Lugburz.”  
”Aye, that ya were _toppin_ '!” Margzat growled as he got up. ”'At was no toppin' back there!”  
”I thought he did a pretty good job of it,” Praktash said flippantly. He barely managed to dodge as Margzat reached for his arm and quickly put some distance between them. ”You wanna talk about this? Fine! Let's _talk._ You said you didn't care about who tops whom!”  
”Aye, when Uruks're involved! What ye're doin's just bloody degradin'!”  
”Oh, fuck off! We're both Lug-snaga!”  
”Izzat so? Didn't I just hear ya _beg_ him to fuck ya like a snaga, huh?”  
”Yeah, like you've never trash-talked durin' a good rut?”  
”This is bloody different!”  
”How?! You were fine with Graz bein' kritauk, you're takin' orders from him at every turn, how's this any different?”  
”'At was temporary, an' it was Officer's orders! This... This is fuckin' sick!!”  
”Y'know 'Zat, for bein' such a big guy you sure are a whiny little bitch at times!”  
”Least I'm not hidin' behind an Officer to get away with shit like this! All the stuff I did an' put up with to get ya in good with the pack, you're fine with throwin' all that away?”  
”Well _maybe_ I didn't ever wanna be in your stupid pack?! _Maybe_ I told ya that over'n over but you didn't care 'cause 'uhuhuh, Uruks're nothin' without a pack'! An' yeah, I'm sick; sick o' you tryin' to make me into somethin' I'm not!!”  
Margzat turned away with a furious, frustrated snarl.  
”Yeah, you walk away,” Praktash shouted at his back. ”Why don'tcha fuck back to your mudpit, since you think they're so bloody special?!”  
That was too much; Margzat spun and pounced him with a thundering roar and Praktash slammed into a tree so hard that he lost his breath and sight for several painful moments. The knife the krîtar had been sharpening hit the trunk with such force that it was buried to the hilt and Praktash's shoulder exploded with pain. _Did he just_ knife _me?!_ He looked back and forth between the blade and Margzat's thick fangs a few times, petrified with shock and fear.  
Margzat cocked his head and glared at him. He slowly leaned in close as if to kiss or bite him and Praktash bared his fangs on pure instinct. Then he grinned; somehow that grin scared Praktash even more. The scent of disappointment was so thick that it was choking.  
”Fine. Be like 'at. Fuck the pack. Be a snaga's bitch, if ya want it so badly. Be a _snaga_.” He took a step back, spun and yanked the blade out of the trunk with a groaning crack. Fear and shame suddenly rushed in to fill the void in Praktash's chest; he doubled over and threw up noisily.   
Margzat did not stop. ”I'm thinkin' someone'll be skippin' dinner,” he rumbled to himself before disappearing among the trees. 

Graznikh heard Margzat's roar and ran towards the sound. The giant Uruk appeared suddenly before him, eyes black with rage and glaring at him with such animosity that he almost thought he would attack him on sight. Graznikh tensed up and prepared to counter, but Margzat only snorted hard and stomped away towards the camp. Graznikh continued in the direction he had come from and soon found Praktash by the river. He was leaning forward with his hands on his knees, quietly gargling and spitting to clear his mouth. He looked up as he heard Graznikh's footsteps but lowered his gaze again as he stopped beside him.  
”Almost thought he'd done ya in,” Graznikh murmured.  
Praktash's lip curled in an ugly half-grin. ”Like I'd let him.” He fingered his shoulder where Margzat's knife had cut him; it had only pierced the skin and the cut was nowhere near a serious injury. Graznikh still growled and drew his blades, his face set with grim determination.   
Praktash stopped him as he began to walk away. ”Don't.”  
Graznikh looked back. ”He bloody dared to-”  
”I don't care. He didn't even have the guts to knife me proper. Don't make it look like I bother with this. Or like I'm not fightin' my own battles.”  
Graznikh threw one last glare in the direction of the camp and sheathed his blades. ”You sure?”  
Praktash nodded with a weary expression. ”If anyone's gonna knife him back for this, it'll be me. An' it'll happen when an' where I want it to.”  
”Alright,” Graznikh said. ”You say the word. I'll hold him down so you can punch the everlovin' shit outta him.” Praktash chuckled mirthlessly at that.  
”What, ya don't think I could do it?” Graznikh asked with a wicked grin. ”Watch me.”  
”I think you could do whatever you set your mind to,” Praktash murmured. Then he closed his eyes and sighed before standing up straight. ”C'mon. Let's get this over with.”

The encampment was as silent as the ghâshgoth's grave when Praktash returned with Graznikh in tow. He walked straight past Margzat with his head held high and sat down next to Záhovar. Sulmurz shot him a sullen glance but said nothing; he and Dînhoth soon returned to discussing the rules for ”Orcs'n Tarks”.  
The evening passed in tenseness; Margzat soon ushered the Uruks out of the tent for some sparring exercises, but ignored Praktash. Praktash himself remained quiet and aloof, spending most of his time with Záhovar and Graznikh. Three nights later, as they reached the sea of Rhûn, he woke Záhovar up once the others had gone to sleep and led her out of the tent and down to the little beach near which they had set up camp. There, he could no longer hold it all inside.  
Záhovar sat on a driftwood log and stroked his greasy hair as he cried.   
”I hate him!!" Praktash sobbed. "I hate his stupid bloody guts!”  
”Do you now..?”  
”I don't wanna _be_ like this! I wanna just drop it all an' walk away like everyone else does, but I can't get him outta my head... I can't get him...”  
”You are not alone in this.”  
”But I don't want'cha to _tell_ them all to take me back! That'd just be hollow an' pointless...”  
”True. But I would not have you blame yourself for Margzat's behaviour; his pain runs deeper than you know, and it is not all about you.”  
Praktash furiously rubbed the tears off his cheeks. ”Whaddya mean?”  
”What do you know of how Uruk commanders are groomed?”  
Praktash shrugged. ”Always thought they fought their way to the top.”  
”No, far from it. They are trained in the same boot camps as the rest of you, and separated only when they are done there. After that, they are given separate training, but what is more, from then on they are given a deeper insight into and understanding of the pack sense, as well as being taught to ignore it. That which knits Uruks together and makes them such a formidable fighting unit is denied the commanders; they are forever alone at the top, for as long as they can hold the position. Margzat is no exception, and he has been denied a pack for a very long time. The longing slowly eats away at him until he knows nothing else; being an Uruk commander slowly but surely drives the successful mad. In a way, you have shattered his worldview; the first Uruk to not have a pack without being a commander, to live outside of the 'line' and be content with it. You have become a symbol for everything that he wants but cannot have. Of course he would want to prove you wrong.”  
”But he _could_ have me,” Praktash whimpered. ”He could have it _all_ if he'd just stop bein' so bloody stupid!!”  
”I will speak with him once we reach the city, if you want me to.”  
”What're you gonna tell him?”  
”I would remind him of what is important in life.”  
”...Sounds good. Make him fear the shadows for me.”  
  
  
A few nights later, a strange kind of restlessness seemed to overtake the group. Urkhish was the first to be affected, dashing for the bushes the moment they stopped for the night but not to piss. Sulmurz was next, sniffing the air with increasingly laboured breath. ”What the fuck _is_ that smell?”  
Soon all noses were in the air. Graznikh's eyes narrowed as he recognised the scent and he glanced at the only possible source. Zosh's eyes widened and she let out a loud squeak before bolting up into a nearby tree with the larger Orcs hot on her heels.  
”What in the Void is going on?” Záhovar asked.  
”She's gone into heat,” Graznikh explained. ”Fuck...”  
”Krîtar; call them back! Krîtar?”  
Margzat did not respond; he was sitting hunched over by the fire, trembling and sweating profusely.  
”It won't work,” Praktash told her with an exasperated sigh. ”Uruks're easily riled. Why didn'tcha tell me?!” he shouted up at Zosh.  
”You's been sayin' you ran outta stuff!” she shouted back with a terrified look down at the Uruks. ”So I took half the dose.”  
”You idiot snaga!”  
”Can'tcha give 'er more now?!” Mikbork asked. ”Make it stop!” He was trembling almost as hard as the others, but like Graznikh, who was used to the effect a female in heat had on him, he was still in control of himself.  
”It dosn't work like that,” Praktash explained. ”You have to take it _before_ the rut kicks in; too little or too late; bam! Heat.”  
”But they's gonna kill 'er!” The snuffler shot the frenzied Uruks a terrified look; Draumaturz and Ghrazagh had begun to chop the tree down.  
”So be it,” Záhovar muttered.  
”So be what? Master?” Graznikh called, but she did not answer. From her own knapsack she brought the ghâshgoth's tooth and knelt on the ground with it in both hands.  
”I do not know that this will work,” she said, ”but in the meantime I need you to protect me. It may give her time enough to escape. Mikbork; go with her.”  
Graznikh squatted beside her. ”What'll ya do?”  
Záhovar closed her eyes. ”I will Compel them.”

Praktash felt a chill in the air as Záhovar reached for the Unseen. Slowly her contours began to bleed light while the rest of her form faded into a black void. There was a terrified shriek from Lîrnash as he spotted her and his fear broke his frenzy; instead he threw himself at her with blind rage. Graznikh and Sulmurz tackled the raving Uruk and tied him with sturdy ropes.  
Praktash was too afraid to move. He could see the tendrils of lust-compulsion undulate through the air towards all Uruks except himself; being so close to it, knowing that mercy alone kept him from losing all that was _he_ and return to the waking nightmare of compulsion was enough to utterly break his resolve. Hot urine ran down his leg and he collapsed with a panicked sob.  
Graznikh left Sulmurz and Ghakû to guard Lîrnash. It was downright eerie to watch the Uruks go from slavering frenzy to mindless obedience in the blink of an eye; even Margzat relaxed with a contented sigh and lifted his head to look at the High Officer with something that could best be described as idolatry.  
Záhovar opened her eyes; she was trembling and gasping from exertion. ”I cannot hold them for long,” she said loudly. ”Snufflers! Now is your chance. Run as far as you can and follow us at a safe distance. Make sure the wind remains in your faces until the danger has passed. Go!”  
Mikbork pulled the terrified Zosh down from the tree. She was clearly reluctant to go, but eventually he managed to disengage her claws from the trunk and drag her away. The Uruks made no sign of seeing them as they darted away; they had all their focus on Záhovar.  
”You realise she's gonna be knocked up proper when they get back,” Graznikh pointed out.  
”Better that than the alternative,” Záhovar hissed.  
”If you take her to Lugburz now, she'll go straight to the pits.”  
”I will find a way,” she groaned. ”Now let me focus!”  
Graznikh left her alone and looked down at Praktash. The Uruk did not react to his own name; he was staring into a world that only he could see, whispering phrases that Graznikh had only heard him utter during nightmares.  
Záhovar could not hold on to the compulsion for long. Even with the ghâshgoth's tooth as a focal point, she was not strong enough to securely bind the minds of so many people. As she felt her grasp slip, she lashed out in an attempt to incapacitate the Uruks before they could turn their frenzy upon her. The Uruks howled in agony as the command to feel pain hit them all at once, and Praktash screamed in a way she had only heard once before; when she released him from compulsion after the surgery on his broken legs years earlier.   
After the ordeal, it took them three days to recover enough to be able to travel. Praktash refused to speak, but clung to Záhovar even tighter than before.  
  
  
Rhûn looked the same as it had the last time they passed. Záhovar was of a mind to bypass the city entirely but Praktash suddenly began to speak again and managed to convince her to allow him access to the bazaar.  
”I might never get another chance like this,” he told her, ”an' I really wanna pick up some o' those drugs for experiments' sake.”   
She gave him a bleak smile. ”Always the pragmatist...”  
Praktash did not return the smile. ”I gotta keep my mind on _somethin'..._ ”  
Záhovar permitted his leave, but would not enter the city herself; instead, she had the uzhâk set up camp in one of the forest parks that the nobility used for leisure sports. To give Praktash a legitimate reason to enter the city, she sent a written note with him to the gate guards with a command to replenish their supplies.  
Graznikh went with him to make sure he did not get lost or distracted, but Praktash was clearly not in the mood for either. He perused the stalls and their wares heedfully and paid whatever the merchants asked. When he was done, Graznikh almost had to drag him into the inn that had been their usual haunt on the way north. Several of the patrons got up and left as they entered, and the innkeeper looked more than a bit concerned.  
”There's still plenty of time left 'til sundown,” he told the listless drugdealer. ”We've earned a mug or five.”  
”I'm not in the mood to get drunk.”  
”You're not in the mood for anything,” Graznikh pointed out as he maneuvered him down on a bench near the wall, ”but trust me; this'll do ya good.” He grabbed one of the serving boys, a young man he remembered his buddy groping and slavering over at each turn when last they visited, to bring them ale and lots of it and pushed a mug into Praktash's hand once the servant returned with the ordered goods and set them down on the table with trembling hands. ”Drink.”  
Praktash did not even look at the man, but once he was properly tipsy he broke down in paroxysmic sobs.  
”That's right,” Graznikh told him. ”Get it out.”  
”He's such a fuckin' idiot!” Praktash snarled and slammed his fist into the table. ”That horse-dicked, stuck up, bloody shithead! I wanna hate him!”  
”Well, he sure didn't handle this in any clever way,” Graznikh said. ”Ya never told him?”  
Praktash shook his head. ”I knew this was gonna happen! I just thought... if he got to know me better, or once he was collared, or... I _was_ gonna tell him! Only not like _this..._ ” He stared at the wall for a moment. ”I wish I'd listened to ya.”  
Graznikh arched an eyebrow. ”Whaddya mean?”  
”Y'knew this was comin', didn'tcha? You never trusted him, told me not to. I shoulda listened...”  
”Buddy, I'm not the Eye. I can't see into the future. Aye, I thought he was shifty, what with his past'n all, but... I dunno, maybe he'll come around once he's gotten over the shock?”  
”Quit rubbin' salt in it!” Praktash snapped without looking away from the wall. ”It's over. Might as well get used to it.”  
  
There was a hushed sound running through the sparse patronage as the door to the inn opened and Graznikh turned around. The innkeeper looked like his eyes were about to fall out and the mug he had been polishing shattered against the brick floor as it fell from his hand. At the sound, Praktash finally managed to tear his eyes from the wall and gave the newcomer a half-hearted, sad smile.  
”So this is where you are hiding,” Záhovar said as she stopped by their table. She gave the room a critical glance. ”It is cleaner than I thought.”  
Graznikh winced. ”The wine's sour, the ale's watered-down.” He held the jug up. ”Want some?”  
Záhovar gave it a doubting glance, but then gave him a curt nod. The innkeeper had obviously found his wits at last because he ran up to the table, fell to his knees before the High Officer and began to praise her existence in broken Common. Záhovar held up a hand to stop the tirade without deigning to look at him.  
”<One jug of your best,>” she commanded. ”<Your praise _might_ be accepted, if I find it to my liking.>”  
The innkeeper kept bowing as he backed away.  
”Why didn't we bring ya along the first time we came here?” Praktash asked wryly. ”That bastard refused to serve us at first.”  
”And he still gets it wrong most of the time,” Graznikh added.  
”What changed his mind?”  
”Graz's knives an' the prospect of havin' 'em for internal company for the rest of his life.”  
”You are nothing if not predictable, my Lug-snaga,” she told Graznikh.  
”I do what I can.” He fell silent as the innkeeper returned. Záhovar allowed him to fill a mug of the piss-coloured liquid and offer it to her with another bow. Before she could take it, however, Praktash took it in her stead and sniffed it carefully. Then he put it down on the table with a bored expression. ”Poisoned.”  
”Indeed?” Záhovar turned to the innkeeper and lifted the mug. ”<Poisoned, you say? That is... unfortunate.>”  
”I not know why they say this! I not...” the innkeeper began to stutter, but fell silent with a look of disbelief as Záhovar brought the mug to her lips and drank.  
”Is it in ours too?” Graznikh asked.  
Praktash shook his head. ”Nar, I woulda noticed. Whoever put it in probably didn't know our noses're sharper than theirs. Bloody amateurs.”  
Graznikh snickered at that and shot the innkeeper a leer. He did not notice; he was staring, transfixed, as Záhovar emptied the contents of her mug. His expression told Graznikh that it was indeed poisoned, and that he was the most likely culprit.  
”Passable,” Záhovar commented as she put it down. ”Tell me; was the entire cask poisoned, or did you give it specifically to me?”  
”There no poison!” the innkeeper said with a smile. ”You not dead, no? Not even harmed! Please, my Ladyship, see reason. There no-”  
Praktash had been sitting listless the entire time, but at the word 'Ladyship' his eyes darkened and he shot up from the bench. Moments later he had the innkeeper by the throat.  
”First,” he growled, ”it takes more than bloody sap of cowbane to kill a High Officer! Second; you don't talk back to my master, you beg for fuckin' mercy! An' third; it's 'Lord' Záhovar, _not_ 'my fuckin' LADYSHIP'!!!”   
With that, he spun the stunned innkeeper around, grabbed the back of his head and smashed it against a nearby table with all the force of his pent up grief and anger. The table broke and the innkeeper's head popped like a dropped egg, splattering blood and brain all over the unfortunate patrons who sat by it. Praktash took a few steps back, then let out a trumpeting Uruk roar.   
  
A few chaotic moments later, the inn was empty save for him, Graznikh and Záhovar. Graznikh was calmly sipping his ale, mingled surprise and amusement written all over his face. Even Záhovar seemed surprised by the sudden violent outburst. Praktash gave her a helpless look, then let out a hysterical, mirthless giggle that soon turned into a howl as he sank to his knees and pressed his face against her groin. She stroked his head as he wept.  
”That was the best scolding I've seen in a while,” Graznikh commented while eyeing the remains of the table and innkeeper. ”You alright? No reaction on the poison?”  
”Not a one,” Záhovar replied and gently hushed at Praktash, who was trying to apologise but the hiccups and sniffles made him nearly incoherent. ”You have naught to apologise for. Dark Lord knows I have been wanting to do that to every last bastard who called me that ever since I came to this Eye-forsaken city, but alas, I do not have the physical prowess required for it. You have done me a great service tonight, my Lug-snaga.”  
That made Praktash laugh despite the tears. ”Quit makin' me laugh,” he sobbed, ”I wanna be miserable!”  
”Then I apologise for ruining your mood.” She turned to Graznikh. ”I shall leave you to it. See that you get back to the palace in one piece, and keep an eye out for bats.”  
Graznikh nodded. ”Aye, master. What about this place?”  
She smirked. ”Leave it for the Men to sort out. I am sure they will handle it... sensibly.”

  
Praktash was more than a bit drunk when he and Graznikh returned to camp long after sundown. The others were still awake and Graznikh decided to stay up a bit longer, but Praktash went straight to bed. Záhovar had already retired for the night but woke up from her half-slumber as the naked Uruk crashed down on top of her.  
”You smell like that time when you dropped a booze barrel on your own head,” she commented drowsily.  
”I feel like that time too,” Praktash replied. Záhovar let out a protesting sound as he maneuvered her into spooning position.  
”Has the night been... good?”  
”Nar, I still feel like shit. Wanna snuggle.”   
Záhovar complied and they hugged and rubbed their noses together for a while.   
”I am sorry,” she whispered, ”for-”  
”Shut up.”  
”As you wish.” The warmth and peace made her drift off a little, and she did not wake up fully until she felt something hot and hard press against her upper thigh. ”Praktash...”  
”Mmm-hm?”  
”You are drunk.”  
”So?”  
”I would not want you to do something you will regret.”  
He gave her a drunk grin. ”What makes you think I'd regret fuckin' ya?”  
”Perhaps you should seek out Graznikh instead?”  
”He's still outside an' I don't wanna go there. 'Sides, I'm too drunk to care,” he murmured in her ear. ”C'mon master, I've gone down on ya _so_ much! It's only fair I get a little somethin' back.” His breathing grew heavier and his hands increasingly persistent, and Záhovar eventually gave in; Praktash was not a bad partner, even drunk as he now was. The moment she parted her legs, his fingers found her most sensitive and he rubbed her just right, all the while he slid his cock between her buttocks, coating both himself and her with slimy precum.  
”I'm all outta lube,” he purred. ”I hope it'll work anyway.”  
”I do believe it w- ohh..!” Záhovar replied but was interrupted as his other hand entered her from behind and brought her own juices further back. Then he began to slowly drill a finger into her rear. Being fingered from two directions at once soon proved enough; Záhovar came with a hiss.  
”That was a _small_ one,” Praktash complained. ”Don'tcha like me anymore?”  
”Perhaps you could do better with other bodyparts?” she replied with a teasing smile.  
”Y'know, I was just thinkin' the same!”  
  
Záhovar almost disappeared beneath the Uruk as he mounted her. The lack of lube meant some discomfort at first, but Praktash spat and squeezed out more precum until there was enough lubrication for him to ease inside. Slow and deep he thrusted at first, giving her time to adjust and relax.   
”Can you go deeper?” he asked. ”With your voice, I mean. Growl at me like you did that first time.” He groaned and thrust harder as she complied, and spunked within mere moments. After a brief rest, he started over, going slow and savouring the sensation.  
”G'won little Officer,” he purred. ”Just one more. We can do better than this!”  
”You are an insatiable monster,” Záhovar gasped.  
”An' you're a sweet-talker, Kafsokhôr!”  
Záhovar clutched the sheets and bit the mattress to muffle her sounds as he picked up the pace.  
”Ohh, fuuuck..!” Praktash growled; his teeth began to chatter and the next moment he reflexively bit down hard. Záhovar screamed in pain as his fangs sank into her shoulder. The scent and taste of blood drove Praktash into a frenzy; he held on with both teeth and hands and began to buck fast and hard. Pain and pleasure mingled together and Záhovar could not think, could not focus, could only _feel..._ Then everything exploded. Praktash bellowed his own climax into her flesh moments after.  
Afterwards, they fell back into spooning position. Praktash still held on with his teeth and did not care to withdraw; both body and mind felt blank and drained. Záhovar moved her hips a little; there was quite a bit of pain, but she did not think that he had damaged her badly. _My shoulder is undoubtedly in a far worse shape._ She gasped and hissed as his jaws suddenly unlocked and let her go. He withdrew and pulled her close, nuzzling her neck with closed eyes and a soft purr. _But I have not sustained any damage that cannot wait to be tended to. He does not need that trouble now._ Instead she tried to sleep despite the pain, and after a long while she succeeded.  
  
”Well, y'know how it is.” Praktash started awake. His ears picked up Margzat's deep, rumbling voice as if they heard it better than other sounds, no matter how he tried to shut it out.  
”Sometimes, it happens after as well,” the krîtar continued quietly. ”An Uruk'll come outta the pit wrong somehow. Sometimes it's on the outside, sometimes the inside... sometimes both. Makes 'em so they can't ever fit in, makes 'em stand out no matter how they try. Most o' them're offed afore they ever see the sky, but every once in a while, one'll slip the net. But it shows eventually. It always does.”  
”If they can't make it, they're not Uruks,” Ghrazagh's voice chimed in. ”Why not just off 'em the moment it shows?”  
Praktash's eyes teared up and he clutched his sleeping Officer a little tighter. _They're talkin' about me..._  
”Why off them at all?” Graznikh's voice suddenly rang out. ”Sounds like a bloody waste of resources to me.”  
”'Cause they don't fit in,” Lîrnash growled. ”You don't get it.”  
”Uruks're made to be soldiers,” Margzat rumbled. ”'At's all we are.”  
”Sure I don't, seeing as I'm not an Uruk,” Graznikh said snarkily. ”But maybe you don't either. See, here's the thing; none o' ya are 'just Uruks'. Urkhish, you're good at the whole smithing business. It's not just nails'n horse shoes, izzit? And Drauma, you've got a way with wire and other contraptions I wouldn't even get close to if I tried. Lîrnash, you're near as good a leatherworker as I am.”  
”'At's useful skills to have in the field,” Margzat replied. ”They're still proper good warriors.”  
”I haven't even gotten to _you_ yet, krîtar,” Graznikh said. ”Seriously; _cooking?_ ”  
”Good warriors're bad warriors if they're not fed right,” Margzat said defensively. Praktash did not need to see his face to know what it looked like when he sounded like that.  
”It's not just feeding though, izzit?” Graznikh asked, continuing his onslaught. ”You make even rations taste good. And you like doing it; don't try to wriggle! And it's not just that. You're all different, just by being out here. You've seen shit, done shit, got experience no uzhâk back home could ever brag about; that kind o' stuff rubs off on ya. This little trip might've made ya the toughest bunch o' Uruks in Lugburz right now, and who've ya got to thank for that?”  
”Lug-durbatar,” several voices said at once.  
”Aye, she led us all there'n back again, and I'm not trying to diminish her glory for it. But who d'ya think set _her_ on this path?”  
The silence stretched and Praktash could imagine several of the Uruks frowning in confusion. _He_ sure did. _What's he playin' at?_  
”Praktash did,” Graznikh said casually after a while. ”What, you don't believe me? Tell you what; I was there first. I taught that High Officer how to fight _before_ she was even a High Officer. She was just a little runt down on the floor with the rest o' us. But she looked at me and saw an anomaly. Some one-of-a-kind Orc who stood out from the others. Then she met Praktash, and he changed her mind. _He_ convinced her to give Orcs'n Uruks alike a chance. To make us more than just the means for an easy victory. That's more than any Top One ever did before. He's the reason she picked Uruks instead of Black Tarks for the mission down south. None o' ya would even be here if it wasn't for him. _And_ he's proven his own worth over'n over, far more so than I have. Skai, he's saved all our lives many times over!”  
Now Praktash's eyes grew misty with new tears, but not of shame this time. _Graznikh, you bloody sweet-talker! I didn't do half of what you're sayin', you know that!_ He buried his face in his master's soft hair to muffle his sobs.   
Graznikh's armour creaked, as though he was standing or stretching. ”But keep treating him like shit, be my guests. Prove to us all that you're nothing but grunts, brainless sword-fodder for the tarks. Prove that all the stuff you could be are just idle fantasies, little hobbies on the side while you're waiting to get killed.” His voice came steadily closer and soon the tent flap opened and he crawled into the High Officer's bed.  
  
”You done yappin'?” Sulmurz mumbled. He had gone to bed at some point while Praktash was asleep, or at least he thought so. Still, the thought of Sulmurz lying right next to them, trying to shut the sounds out while Praktash rutted his master's arse was enough to make him leer a little through the tears.  
Graznikh's reply was to toss a leather gauntlet in his face and Sulmurz threw it back with a snarl.  
”Do not mind those of us who are trying to sleep,” Záhovar murmured caustically. ”Feel free to wake the entirety of the realm up! I am certain they are all as friendly as you.”  
”If they were, we'd be knee-deep in blood by now,” Graznikh snickered and climbed over both Sulmurz and Záhovar. Praktash rolled over and pulled him down on top of his chest before wrapping a blanket around them both. Sulmurz let out little squeaks of discomfort as Záhovar kneaded him.  
”'M not a pillow!” he complained. ”I won't get softer just 'cause ya poke'n prod me!”  
”You will if I do it,” Praktash replied and felt as surprised as Graznikh looked. He had not said anything of the like since his falling apart with Margzat.  
”Then perhaps I shall command him to do it for me,” Záhovar murmured and Sulmurz's wide-eyed, fearful look made both Praktash and Graznikh snicker. Sulmurz growled at them but quickly lay back down and tried to relax to avoid the potential Uruk-poking that awaited him if he did not. After a few more tentative prods, Záhovar molded her body against his barrelled chest with a contented sigh and calm returned to the crowded tent once more.   
Graznikh opened an eye and caught Praktash watching him. ”You pissed at me too now?” he whispered.  
Praktash grinned. ”Shut up an' sleep, you little snaga idiot.”  
Graznikh chuckled at that and made himself comfortable. Praktash tried to do the same, but the grin soon faded from his face as his mind wandered to Margzat once more, lying out there as alone as he had been on the way to Morigost. _'Zat, you big bloody idiot... If you hadn't been such an Uruk-brained moron, you'd be in here with us! With me..._   
  
It took a long time before he fell asleep.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ghost pepper - this is inspired by an online comic called "Spider and Scorpion" from Jolly Jack's Collected Curios. Japanese games are weird.  
> "For the love of jackdaws" - jackdaws are very intelligent birds that mate for life, and they are held in high regard in Kinn-Lai culture.


	30. Calleth You, Cometh I

The following morning, Praktash only got a few feet away from the bed before he doubled over and threw up. He fell to his knees with a groan and clutched his pounding head. ”Shit... Skai, fuck, sha, karkatulûk!!”  
”Tell me about it,” Graznikh whimpered. ”I need... something...”  
”Oh, quit yer whinin'! Ya brought this on yerselves!” Sulmurz exclaimed.  
”That doesn't make it any better!”  
Praktash crawled on all fours over to the fire. After striking the flint, dropping it while crying out in pain as the flash of light seared his aching eyes, picking it up, trying to strike it with closed eyes but missing and hitting his thumb, spending some time cursing over the newly acquired pain and eventually being shoved away by Sulmurz who got the fire going within moments, he finally managed to brew some painkilling tea. Sulmurz brought a mug over to Graznikh, all the while grumbling over the fact that he had been woken up from a perfectly good dream. As he crawled back to his spot in bed, he caught a strangely familiar scent and paused. Then he glanced down at Záhovar with a confused frown. ”Was this pillow always red?”  
The next toll was the second worst in the lives of everyone present. Not only did Graznikh nearly choke on the hot tea, he spat it out in Sulmurz's face and kicked him out of the bed as he rolled over to check on his master. Praktash kept switching between fussing over her worse than a nesting giant eagle over its chick, bewailing his hangover and begging both her and Graznikh for mercy and forgiveness. Meanwhile, Sulmurz was trying to cure _his_ headache from hitting his head on a stone and stay sane in the company of the two raving lunatics.  
”ENOUGH!!” Záhovar eventually shouted. ”I am fine! It is merely a bitemark; bitemarks bleed!”  
”But I _hurt_ ya!” Praktash whimpered. ”You let me fuck your arse even though I'm a miserable drab, an' then I go an' treat ya like this!”  
”Wait, what?” Sulmurz asked. ”He _what_?”  
”That's not a bitemark!” Graznikh protested. ”He bloody near tore a chunk outta ya! If you're that bad up top, whaddya look like below?”  
Záhovar gave him a scandalised look. ”That is none of your concern!”  
”It should be yours if you wanna ride back home!”  
”He did _what?!_ ” Sulmurz asked with a bewildered frown.  
”It will heal,” Záhovar said in her most reassuring voice. ”There is no reason to- No! I forbid- Oof!!”  
  
Graznikh did not care for excuses; he grabbed her ankles and flipped her over until she lay face down across his knees. ”If you really don't want me to do this, you've got a collar to tug!” Then he yanked her trousers off. Praktash peeked at the destruction he had wrought with big, sad eyes and quivering lower lip.  
”Ouch,” Sulmurz commented wih a wince.  
”Hand me the salve,” Graznikh told him.  
”Ya sure she doesn't need stitches?”  
”I do _not_ need stitches!” Záhovar hissed while trying to wriggle out of Graznikh's grip.  
Their fight was interrupted as Praktash began to bawl loudly and crashed to the floor. ”I can't belie-hee-heeve this!” He proceeded to tear a pillowcase off, pull it over his head and then crawled over to kiss Záhovar's feet. Graznikh and Sulmurz shared an uncomfortable look before the former let Záhovar go and squatted down beside the sobbing pillowcase.  
”Buddy..? What the fuck is wrong with ya?”  
Praktash lifted the pillowcase and gave him a dead serious look. ”You think this is for real? I can't _believe_ you gullible snaga!” He sat up and threw the pillowcase into the fire. ”If I'm gonna have a breakdown, it'll be a lot more spectacular than this!”  
”Well, that's a good sign if I ever saw one,” Graznikh said once he stopped laughing. ”You can't be that far down the pit if you can joke about it!”  
”That was a joke?” Sulmurz asked. ”He needs to work on it.”  
”'Course it passed ya by,” Praktash snorted. ”You're too busy starin' at arse to pay attention!”  
”I'm not..! Watch it, Uruk!”  
”Do you _mind?_ ” Záhovar hissed, effectively shutting them all up. ”Just give me the Eye-forsaken salve!”  
”Well, look who woke up on the wrong side,” Praktash insolently commented as he tossed her the jar. ”I liked you better when you were drunk.”  
Záhovar's only reply was a furious hiss. After tending her wounds and snarling at Graznikh and Sulmurz when they offered to help, she dressed with mechanic movements and stomped out of the tent.  
”If that flap was a door,” Sulmurz muttered once he was sure of her absence, ”I bet the hinges woulda come clean off.”  
”You sure this was a clever move, pissing her off like this?” Graznikh asked. ”She had a meeting scheduled with Margzat.”  
”I _know,_ ” Praktash replied with a spiteful leer. ”An' I bloody _hope_ he does somethin' equally stupid!”  
”Now you're being petty.”  
”So? Everythin's fair in love an' war.”  
”Where'd you hear that?”  
”Read it in a book.”  
”And this is both, right?”  
”I dunno, what's love?”  
”Fine, if you don't wanna fuck this headache away, I'll try offing it someplace else.”  
”Who said I didn't?!”  
”You're _not_ doin' that sorta shit in here!” Sulmurz protested as Graznikh and Praktash pounced each other.  
”Try stoppin' us!” Praktash purred. ”C'mon Sully, try pryin' us apart! Get in between us, _pleeease!_ ”  
Sulmurz chose safety first and bolted out of the tent.

  
Margzat stood on his knees on the grass in a small tree-encircled hollow some distance from where they had made camp, wearing nothing but his loincloth and leather tunic. Záhovar paced in front of him, fully dressed and armoured. He did not need a keen sense of smell to sense her mood and had obeyed without question when she told him to strip and follow, but being forced to listen as she spoke at length about Praktash and his service to her had served to send him to the very edge of his self-control.  
”You asked for the collar,” Záhovar said as she paced.  
”I know,” Margzat muttered.  
”You gave me your word.”  
”I know...”  
”That is not wise to give away if you do not intend to keep it.”  
”I KNOW!!!” Margzat roared. Záhovar stopped to give him a wide-eyed stare, and Margzat gasped a few times and swallowed. ”I didn't... I'm... Skai..!”  
”Have you lost your mind, krîtar?”  
”I'm thinkin' I have...”  
”Why are you doing this? To him, and to yourself?”  
”I don't know!”  
”Yes you _do._ Do not presume to think that I do not know your mind better than you do yourself!”  
”If ya already know, then why're ya questionin' me?” he asked bitterly.  
”Because you are lying to yourself, and I want you to hear yourself speak those lies out loud.”  
The silence stretched, and Margzat knew that there was no escape from the acid test the High Officer had laid out before him. ”I want him... want him for my own.”  
”You have a strange way of showing that.”  
”He lied to me!” he snarled with a tortured expression. ”He told me _he_ was toppin'! Not... He _lied_ to me!”  
”He lied because he feared your reaction should you ever find out. He feared that you would think less of him for it. And here you are, proving him right with every breath you take.”  
Margzat's only reply was a little whimper. He shot up despite not having been given leave to do so and began to pace the hollow in Záhovar's stead. His eyes filled with such intense pain that Záhovar wondered if it had not driven him insane. After a while, he sent a rotten log shattering against the earthen wall where the edge of the hollow had once collapsed with a hard kick and bellowed his broken heart out. _How little the tarks know,_ Záhovar thought as she discreetly covered her ears, _that the 'monsters' they see as enemies can feel just as strongly as they do themselves. Perhaps even stronger. They are simply denied all tools to handle those feelings, and so they are funnelled into violence and mistrust._  
When he had no more air in his lungs, Margzat sunk down into a squat and hid his face in his hands. ”I can't do this,” he whispered. ”I'm thinkin'... Maybe it's better for all if we leave it at this.” He started a little as Záhovar's little hand landed on his shoulder.  
”Krîtar... Whatever you think of yourself, you gave Praktash something he thought unattainable. That makes you important, whether you want to see it or not.”  
Margzat gave her an odd look. ”My cock?”  
Záhovar paused to rub the bridge of her nose, straining to keep her face neutral. ”No, krîtar. You gave him a pack. And you let him grow and earn his place in it, instead of shutting him out and drawing the line between him and everyone else. It has made him so much stronger than he was when he first entered my service. Whatever you choose to do, you have my gratitude for this.”  
Margzat looked down and sat quiet for a moment before he spoke again. ”What happened to him, back afore he joined ya? He told me he was in Blog Shakâmb, but I never got the gist o' it.”  
”That is not my place to say.”  
He looked up. ”He never told ya?”  
Záhovar chose not to answer. ”I am familiar with Gîrakûn's views of Uruks and Orcs. They are similar to many others', though far more extreme. You are nothing but tools to her, to be used and then discarded when you are no longer needed. So in the end, your choice is this; to remain a living being, now that you know what it is like, or go back to being a tool.”  
Margzat looked away. ”I'm thinkin' I'll hafta think 'bout 'at.” Then he winced. ”'At sounded better in my head.”  
”Take your time,” Záhovar told him. ”We still have a long way to Thaurband.”  
  
When she returned to the camp, she heard a commotion coming from it. The Orcs and Uruks had gathered around a tied man lying on the ground near the fire, and they were hooting and jeering at him. Graznikh detached himself from the crowd as he spotted her approach.  
”The bastard tried to sneak into our supply tent,” he reported. ”Stealing or spying, we haven't found out which yet.”  
The man looked up with wide, frightened eyes as he spotted the High Officer.  
”My Ladyship,” he stammered and struggled against his bonds. ”Please, have mercy! I did not know, I swear!”  
Záhovar gave him a neutral glance. ”I am listening.”  
A few of the Uruks gave her disgruntled looks in return, but the man saw his chance. ”I-I am Ad-Ragoor, my revered Ladyship, I hail from the Clay Quarter outside western High Gate. My children... We have very little in the way of food, and I thought... I swear, I did not know this was your residence!” He swallowed hard as the leering Sulmurz squatted beside him.  
”Maybe ya shoulda thought o' that before ya came snoopin' through our stuff, hmm?”  
”Y-yes, you...” His eyes darted between the Orc and Záhovar. ”Please... Blessed, revered Ladyship..! Untie me, and I swear I will make amends, in whatever way I can! The children... I will-”  
”I shall untie you.”  
There were a few scattered groans of disappointment from the crowd. Ad-Ragoor's eyes lit up with hope. ”I cannot thank-!”  
”We shall untie you,” Záhovar repeated, ”in ways you scarce believed possible. We shall untie the tendons from your bones, the veins from your heart, the strings that hold your wretched spirit to its useless vessel! You speak the Common tongue far too well to be native to this realm, and if you had had any insight into the naming traditions of Rhûn you would have known that 'Ad-' is a forbidden heritage, a house that was banned for rising up against the Dark Lord. Your life is forfeit.”  
She made a dismissive gesture with her hand and turned away, deaf to the Man's increasingly frantic pleading and cursing. The Orcs closed in and soon there were no words left in his screams.  
  
  
Three weeks later, they reached the vast river valley where the Orcess tribe dwelt. Graznikh rode at his mistress' side when he caught Ghakû gesturing in the corner of his eye. He turned Akûl around and joined him further down the column.  
”Think they're still here?” he asked as he dismounted.  
Ghakû shrugged. ”If they were smart about it, they shoulda started running the moment we left 'em last time. But not everyone's that smart.”  
”Not everyone's that able to pull free o' the Eye's hold,” Graznikh replied.  
”Aye... Quit spoutin' sense, you sound like an ol' codger!”  
”What of it, ushatarkû?”  
”Well if you start soundin' old, then what the fuck does that make me?”  
They both laughed at that.  
”I think we all got more'n a few grey hairs on this trip,” Graznikh commented with a discreet but telling glance at Margzat.  
”Aye,” Ghakû agreed. ”All except one.” He waved his shield vaguely in Praktash's general direction. ”'At one's never gonna grow old, mark my words.”  
Graznikh chuckled. ”I guess we'll se about that... He still going down on ya?”  
”Gotta have some veteran's privileges,” Ghakû grinned lecherously. ”'Sides, his salves make my joints creak only half as bad as they used to. Speakin' o' joints...” He put on a cospiratorical expression. ”You in the mood for a favour?”  
Graznikh gave him a suspicious look. ”What kind of favour?”  
”The kind where you put in a word with yer pretty master. Name my loyal service to Lugburz, general obedience, stuff like that.”  
”And..?”  
Ghakû shrugged and gave their surroundings a disinterested look. ”I'm not getting any younger. I'd say another adventure such as this is well an' truly past me now. I'm sure I could serve the Tower better in a more settled-down position, I mean, I'm not useless with the spear yet. The nashra here'll be thick with spawn soon, the lot of 'em. Might need a half-decent hunter to bring 'em meat and such, if ya catch my drift...”  
”From what little I've seen they seem pretty capable even when thick,” Graznikh replied with a lopsided grin. ”And you know the Census Archive'd insist on lopping yer package off first.”  
”Was kinda hoping you wouldn't put it like that,” Ghakû murmured with a disappointed wince.  
”How else would I put it?”  
”Well, you're pretty close with the top o' the top, aren'tcha? You could grease some wheels, tug some strings, and before ya know it..?”  
Graznikh understood. ”I'll see what I can do, but don't get your hopes up. Against the paperturners, even the Top Ones fight a losing battle.”  
  
”Zosh,” Záhovar called after commanding a halt. ”Walk with me.” The snuffler and her mate had returned as the group set out from Rhûn. Three weeks in, her rapidly growing belly was barely noticeable, but Záhovar still did not walk far, only far enough to get away from prying ears and eyes. She stopped by a patch of reeds far taller than herself.  
”I take it you know what will happen once we arrive in Lugburz.”  
Zosh did not look up from the ground. ”They'll chuck me in th' pits.”  
”That they would, and nothing I said or did could stop it from happening. But it is not unavoidable.” Záhovar sat down crosslegged on the ground, and now Zosh looked at her. ”Our paths diverge here, whether we like and want it or not. But the path to take is yours.”  
”Whazzat mean?”  
”It means that I am giving you a choice.” The High Officer held out a fist and opened it, palm up. ”One path will keep you with me for a little longer, but it will also lead to the Pits. The other...” She held up her other fist and opened it, revealing a signet stone. ”The other ends here, by the river. Remain with these river-Orcs; be they male, your cubs will still be taken from you, but you yourself will be as free as can be while still tied to Lugburz.”  
Zosh stared at the stone. ”Wha' about Mickey?”  
”I will call him into my service again at a later date,” Záhovar replied, ”but for now I leave him in your care. See that you do not squander him.”  
Now Zosh stared at her instead as the words sunk in. Then she let out a shrill, whinnying sound and hugged her. Záhovar gave no sign of what she thought, but she did briefly place a gauntleted hand on the snaga's shoulder before disentangling her.  
”In the meantime, I shall see to wearing down those rigid rules. Perhaps one night you will see the might of Lugburz with your own eyes, and not be alone in doing so.”  
”I'm never alone,” Zosh chirped. ”Not while Mickey's alive.”  
”Is that so?”  
”Uh-huh. We's bonded, jus' like you'n Graz.”  
Now it was Záhovar's turn to stare in chock. ”How came you by this knowledge?!”  
”Mickey told me.”  
”And how did _he..?_ ”  
”Saw it on ya, right from th' start. He told me not to say, but seein' as we's going to leave, I might as well.” She looked up at the sitting High Officer with uncharacteristic seriousness. ”You really should let 'im back in.”  
Záhovar made an attempt to regain her cool composure. ”You did not witness the peril it put us in.”  
”I see what's it doin' _now._ He's breakin'; the only thing keeping him up'n running's Prakky, an' even he can't do for much longer. Without him, Graz'd turn into a lump, like when you pull the spine outta a lemming. An' thanks for lettin' me stay!” Without further ado, Zosh turned and bounced away in her usual obliviously cheerful mood, leaving her bewildered master behind.  
  
The reactions to the news of the snufflers' departure were mixed.  
”Finally!” Ghrazagh exclaimed. ”Maybe I can siddown without havin' to watch for thistles from now on!”  
”Don't worry, we'll carry on the legacy,” Draumaturz snickered.  
”If you don't keep shut, I might get the idea that it was you all the time!”  
”Awww, but I'm gonna miss my favourite snaga!” Praktash caught Mikbork before he could escape and gave him a big hug, patting his back a little too friendly. The snuffler whimpered and eventually managed to claw his way out of the Uruk's grip.  
”You's supposed to be on _my_ side!” he snarled as his leering mate.  
”But I _am!_ ” Zosh replied with a lecherous giggle. ”I'm all supportive'n stuff here! As long as I get to watch.”  
”I _like_ her,” Praktash proclaimed.  
”No surprise there,” Sulmurz retorted. ”Mind of a vîzhnik, ya have!” His remark brought down roars of laughter from the uzhâk; even Margzat chuckled a little. Praktash shot him a venomous glare, but did not reply in kind.  
”Waste of a decent snuffler,” Graznikh commented, ”but I guess we'll hafta make do.”  
”You will go with them,” Záhovar told him, ”and you will bring a message to their leader, if they have one at present.”  
”Just me?”  
”Ghrazagh and Lîrnash will go with you to give your words greater weight.”  
”Did she just call me fat?” Lîrnash whispered, not quite quiet enough for other not to hear. Praktash and Zosh broke down into hysterical snickering that made Margzat put on a face of contempt and distaste.  
”Make sure that they remember our agreement,” Záhovar told Graznikh as he prepared, ”and inform them that the first delivery of supplies will be sent as soon as I reach Ruzh Moraut. And tell them about the snufflers.”  
Graznikh nodded as he mounted Akûl. ”Right. Ya ready?” he called. Mikbork and Zosh mounted behind him whilre Lîrnash and Ghrazagh took up position on each side. Then they left the road and trotted into the wetlands.  
  
If not for the snufflers' keen senses, they would have missed the scouting party. As it was, both groups of Orcs eyed each other tensely for a while before Graznikh called out to them, recalling that one of those left in charge when they left was called Shakraum. He was not wrong; soon he found himself in front of the heavily guarded cave entrance to the stronghold. After a brief wait, Shakraum and Mîrish came out to meet him. The former was thick with spawn.  
”So ya didn't die up north,” Shakraum commented. ”Near a pity.”  
”I'm not that easy to kill,” Graznikh replied. He nodded towards her belly. ”Caught another one?”  
”Nar, this one's all yours.” Mîrish chuckled and patted Shakraum's gut.  
Graznikh's face fell. ”What?”  
”Maturz squeezed some out'n shared with us,” the Orcess snickered. ”Mîrish didn't take, but I did. We didn't think it'd work, but ya got stronger seed than most.”  
_My litter. My cubs. Fuck..!_ ”Right. Good luck with that then.” He bit back the urge to punch the smug leer from Shakraum's face and relayed his master's message. _My master. Never my mate. Why won't she be my mate?_ ”And these two'll stay,” he finished with a nod towards Zosh and Mikbork.  
”I remember you,” Mîrish told Zosh with a grin. ”Don't go near the pots again an' you'll do fine.” She turned back to Graznikh. ”Anything else? Oh, by the way; Varrgra's thick too. Not yours though.” She giggled as Graznikh let out a relieved sigh.  
”I bloody hope the whole litter are lads,” Shakraum growled. ”If the sire's who I think it is, shit's gonna fly when they grow up.”  
”Not just shit, I'd wager,” Mîrish muttered. ”Where is the little wanker, by the way? Kraash?”  
”He went-” Graznikh began, but was interrupted by a wail from within the gate.  
”WHERE IS HE?! Where's that slip-toothed cub-fucker, I'll tear his ears off!!” Varrgra stormed out of the cavern, kicking the guard down as she passed. Shakraum groaned.  
”As I was just saying,” Graznikh tried again, ”he turned traitor and tried to stab me in the back. Got himself knifed in turn. Good riddance.”  
”What?” Varrgra looked like she had been hit in the head; she stared, slack-jawed, at him for a moment. ”But... he said he'd come back.”  
”Don't tell me ya still believe that jack-shit!” Mîrish snarled at her. ”Whatever he said, he's dead now! Get over it!”  
”But... he said. He said, _he said,_ HE SAID!!” Varrgra began to scream again.  
”Will someone get that walkin' headache back inside the cave afore the moon fries even more o' her brains?” Shakraum roared. Four Orcs rushed out to do her bigging.  
Graznikh did not quite hear what was said after that. He was too busy staring after the raving Orcess, stunned by horrible understanding after the brief moment they had locked eyes. He had felt that pain himself, heard similar screams coming out of his own mouth, and more than once. Suddenly he wanted nothing more than to put as much distance between himself and the river Orcs' nest as possible.  
”Chief?” Mîrish repeated. ”Ya gonna stay the day?”  
He shook his head. ”Nar. We leave.”  
”What?!” Lîrnash protested. ”But we could be-”  
Graznikh cut him off by grabbing him by the neck. ”You got a problem with how I lead this band?!”  
Lîrnash croaked a negative response, too shocked at the snaga's assertiveness to fight back.  
”We can't stay,” Graznikh told the Orcesses after letting him go. ”It's not that far to Lugburz, and we need to report in before the Top Ones decide to turn us all into sweaters.”  
Lîrnash looked a little uncomfortable as they walked back to the others. ” _That's_ where our shirts come from?”  
”How many cows have ya seen in Lugburz?” Ghrazagh replied. ”Sum it up yerself.”  
  
  
”Well then,” Dînhoth said one morning as they made camp on the edge of the vast forest that covered the foothills of the Mountains of Ash. ”This is it, I believe.”  
”This is what?”  
”This is where I bid you all a very fond farewell.”  
”But I thought you were gonna come with us to Lugburz?” Praktash said with a pout.  
”Ah, I fear my delicate self would not survive the impact,” Dînhoth replied and gave him a warm smile. ”Though I'm certain our paths will cross again at some point in time.” He turned to Záhovar. ”Do I have your word that you will not attempt to kill me upon my departure?”  
”That you do. Do not forget where your allegiances lie.”  
”You have my word.” He held out his hand and seemed to wait for something. After some hesitation, Záhovar held out her own; Dînhoth took it and ever so gently, he pressed his lips to the back of it. Then he mounted the horse that Záhovar had bought for him in Rhûn. ”Word will reach you about my doings in due time. Until then, aklarakwâ! Fare thee well!”  
Once Dînhoth had turned his horse onto the eastern road and spurred it into a trot, a throwing dagger whistled past Záhovar's ear and lodged itself into his back. He let out a cry and doubled over; the horse leapt forward, fell into a fast canter and despite the wound, he managed to remain seated as it sped out onto the open plain.  
Záhovar spun around to glare at Graznikh, who watched the disappearing horse with a look of contentment. ”I told you to let him go!”  
”Nar, ya didn't,” Graznikh replied. ”You said _you'd_ let him go. But you never said how far, and you never said that I wouldn't.”  
Záhovar's eyes burned with cold fury. ” _You..!”_  
”That bastard had it coming and then some!” he growled. ”He tried to kill ya thrice that he readily admitted to, and probably half a dozen more that he kept shut about! I'm not gonna let a loose end like that run about; he'd be bound to show up again and give us some nasty surprises when he did!”  
”He's got a point,” Praktash commented. ”Nothin' good ever comes outta somethin' that pretty.”  
”Look who's talking,” Sulmurz muttered.  
Praktash turned to stare at him with a lopsided grin. ”Did you actually just call me 'pretty'?”  
”Nar!”  
”You _did!_ ”  
”Nar!!”  
”I _knew_ you liked me, Sully! C'mere, give us a kiss!”  
Záhovar let out an exasperated sigh as Sulmurz began to pelt Praktash with lumps of dry dirt. ”His master was dead, and I still had uses for him! There was no reason for you to kill him!”  
”As far as we know, aye!”  
”And what next? Will you slay Eälaion as well? Or any other person with skill who happens to cross our path? Will I have any connections left outside of Lugburz's borders when you are done culling those you find suspicious?!”  
”It's not my fault you got shitty judgement!!”  
”Alright, let's not quarrel in front of the cubs,” Praktash said loudly. Tall as he was, neither Orc nor Officer could see the other as he stepped in between them. ”You're free to try to kill each other once we're back in Lugburz, but I'm _not_ good with you tryin' to kill the rest of us too! Or with you fuckin' up the mission when we're this close to bringin' it home, for that matter.”  
”The fuck're you trying to do?” Graznikh muttered as they split up.  
”I'm tryin' to save your half-wit snaga hide, is what I'm tryin' to do! Quit makin' it so fuckin' hard to keep ya alive!”  
The journey through the Desolation was uneventful and soon the fortress of Ruzh Moraut loomed in the distance. Lord Dâurinzil was not present, so they only stayed the night before setting out again. True to her word, Záhovar did not travel by ship this time. The Khand Road took them west through a craggy hill country where every arable spot of land had been cultivated by an untold number of slaves. When they left Ruzh Moraut the fields had been resting but now the crops grew tall, mainly root vegetables. Most of the transport went by way of the sea, so the road was not very well tended. Still, it was preferable to a watery grave so no one complained. Praktash sampled plants and cauht snakes along the way and went foraging every time they stopped. Graznikh lent him Akûl as a guard in case the monster from the woods returned.  
The closer they got to the Mithram spur, the wilder the forest grew. Here the trees towered far above their heads and lianas thick as bridges stretched between them, nearly blocking the night sky in places. The western parts of the Desolation was a veritable living cave. Glowing eyes peered at them from the gloom on both sides of the road; no attacks came but the Uruks were tense, knowing full well what dangers dwelled there. Margzat especially looked like he would welcome a fight.  
  
  
Margzat breathed a sigh of relief as Thaurband came into view behind the cliffs and signalled that the long, arduous march was finally over. Each day he had turned the High Officer's words over and over in his head, each night he had tried to come up with a good strategy for talking to the redhead that treated him like foul air. Now he had no more time to turn and plan; it was time to come clean.  
The Uruk garrison looked the same as it always had. After the uzhâk had been given their lodgings and made themselves comfortable, one of the other krîtars came up to him. ”You Margzat? Got a message for ya.” Margzat grunted in reply.  
”Report?” he asked when the other Uruk had finished. ”Where? Skai...” he muttered when the other told him. ”Arright. Gotta finish some stuff here, then I'll be off.”  
”Not a word, remember? Spies're everywhere; ya never know who might hear.”  
”Aye, I know.”  
After bullying himself into possession of a cask of Orc-brew, he threw himself down onto a strawbag in a secluded room. Usually, Margzat was not one for drowning his problems in booze but he had decided to make an exception. Perhaps it would help disperse the fog of reckless emotion in his head so that he could think straight for once. _Bukrazikh...The fuck'm I gonna do with ya?_  
Margzat loathed this sudden indecisiveness. His mind had been set on following the Officer at first, but then he had realised how much he would leave behind. Watching his redhead show throat to his hated rival back in the Elf stronghold had soured things further, even though he had stepped in when Margzat most needed it. And then he had seen...  
He lost his temper and threw the earthenware jug against the wall with a furious bellow. It shattered, leaving a dark stain behind. He took a few deep breaths to steady himself and sunk back onto the strawbag with a groan.  
It had been a bitter drink to swallow. It still was. He had had his suspicions about Praktash and Graznikh, but happily pushed them aside. He had hoped that Praktash would get so hooked up into the pack that he would not want to leave, would prefer them over the company of snaga, but clearly it was not enough. His Clawless was wild in more than one way.  
_Nar... I'm thinkin' he's not mine anymore. The fuck'm I gonna do?!_  
  
Záhovar took up residence in the fortress now that the previous commander was well and truly gone. After a brief discussion with Graznikh and Sulmurz, she made Ghakû a part of the local garrison and put in a good word for him to the responsible Captain.  
”I guess this is it then,” Sulmurz told Ghakû. ”Good to have known ya, ushatarkû.”  
”Go easy on 'em,” Ghakû murmured with a telling nod towards Záhovar, who pretended not to have noticed.  
”Nothin's easy in this life,” Sulmurz chuckled. Ghakû shrugged and left without further ado; Sulmurz watched him go until his back disappeared into the garrison. Then he turned to Záhovar. ”Ready to leave when ya are, uh... Master.” The look she gave him sent hot and cold shivers down his spine and a part of him wanted to hop and skip all the way back to the fortress chambers. But he resisted and remained serious and tough as he followed her out into the streets. _Gotta keep yer cool from now on, Sulmurz. Ye're Lug-snaga soon, part o' the elite.  
_ ”So, err... Where're the other two?” he asked as they entered the commander's quarters in Thaurband fortress.  
”In the guest suite,” Záhovar replied. ”I imagine they need some time to themselves, so they are off duty for the remainder of the night.” She held her arms out and glanced at him. Sulmurz had been around long enough to know what she meant and hurried to unbuckle her armour. It was an easy enough task now that he knew where all the little buckles, straps and hidden fastenings that held it in place were, and soon it hung on the armour stand in the corner.  
Záhovar stretched leisurely. ”As much as I enjoy the freedom on the road, I do hope that I am granted some leisure time once this is over.” She watched him fidget where he stood. ”And what do you think?”  
Sulmurz looked up. ”Huh?”  
”What are your thoughts on the journey we have soon finished? You must have some.”  
”Err... good, I s'ppose? I mean, no one's died, at least nobody important. An' we didn't fail.”  
”True... at large, it was a success.”  
Sulmurz hesitated. ”Do, err... Don'tcha think so too?”  
  
Záhovar eyed him in silence until he began to fidget again. ”With every victory, the stakes rise a little higher. Already I have enemies here, powerful enemies who keep a close watch on all I do. And with every successful task, they look a little closer. Some do more than just look.”  
”Then... we kill 'em, end o' story.”  
She smirked. ”For some, that would be the easier path. Mind you, nothing is easy in Lugburz. Killing one enemy can create three new. No, I cannot go on the offensive just yet. This is their move.”  
Sulmurz frowned. ”What enemies're we talkin' about?”  
”Other High Officers, mostly.” He shivered a little as she ran a finger along the tip of his ear. ”Rivalry ensures that only the strongest and sharpest of both body and mind remain at the top. Our Master suffers no mediocrity.”  
”Aye,” Sulmurz purred and gave her a leer that he managed to make both cocksure and subservient at once. ”'At's how it should be. O-only the best... Best o' the best, right?”  
Her heavy-lidded smirk turned his knees to jelly. ”Indeed. Which makes my position all the more dangerous.”  
”But... it's not all bad, innit?” Sulmurz pointed out. ”I mean, there's good to, right? 'S not all work'n no play... right?”  
”Oh, there will be play...”  
He began to purr as she backed him up against the bedpost. She leaned forward to reach something that lay on the bed and he took the opportunity to rub his face against her breasts. When she straightened up once more, she held an iron collar with her signet on it in her hands. Sulmurz closed his eyes, lifted his chin and bared his neck.  
”You have more than earned this,” Záhovar murmured as she locked it around his neck. ”See that you never disappoint me enough to make it fall off.”  
”Wouldn't dream o' it,” Sulmurz replied as he opened his eyes again. There was a fanatical gleam within them. ”Command me, whatever ya want an' I'll work myself to the bone to get it done.”  
”Of course you will... My Lug-snaga.”  
The thudding of a heavy fist against the oaken door brought an unwelcome distraction. Sulmurz groaned when he saw who it was.

Meanwhile, Praktash was trying to reconcile himself with the fact that it was time to go back to being a Lug-snaga. No more falling asleep with the pack's purrs in his ears, no more snuggling, no more grooming, no more sparring or laughing or fucking... And no more Margzat. He got up from the bed where he had been trying to rest and donned his armour.  
Graznikh looked up. ”Buddy?”  
”I'll go for a walk,” Praktash quietly told him. ”I need to be alone for a while.”  
”Don't do anything stupid now.”  
”What the fuck d'you take me for? I'm not gonna kill myself over that moron! I'll be... I just need some time, is all.”  
”Alright,” Graznikh replied. ”Don't get lost.” Praktash nodded and gave him a half-hearted grin before closing the door.  
The castle was empty, and his footsteps echoed as he made his way up onto the inner battlements. Outside it was raining hard and little streams of ash-riddled water trickled down from the roof and ran along the stones until they found some crack or crevice in which to disappear. Praktash did not care about the weather; right now, he didn't mind getting wet and he couldn't care less about his rust-prone armour. _I can buy a whole new set if I want one.  
_ Somewhere beyond the grey rain curtain lay the Uruk barracks. A place he would never again visit, if he could avoid it. Rain was good. It meant that he could pretend that the hot tears spilling down his cheeks were just more water from the sky. _No more 'Zat...  
_ Eventually he could not stand being out there any more. He was shivering when he returned inside; cold water had soaked into his clothes and trickled down his back. _That'd be so bloody proper, if I died from a cold after all the shit I've survived._ He lengthened his steps to get back to the warm room.  
  
One moment Praktash was walking down an empty corridor in the large fortress, his wet, bare feet slapping against the stone floor. The next he stood face to face with krîtar Margzat who had been walking in the other direction. Praktash turned on his heel but was yanked backwards by the armour straps before he could take a single step. Margzat quickly and quietly dragged him into an abandoned store room, shoved him against the wall so hard that he lost his breath and closed and barred the door. Then he caught him in a bear hug before Praktash had regained his senses enough to fight back. For a brief, terror-filled moment, Praktash was certain that this was it; he was going to die in this dark, dusty room and no one would even know it before he was long gone. He fought back with all his might, what little he could do; he stomped Margzat's toes, kicked his shins, pinched and dug his clawless fingers into his back, hoping that the krîtar's bulky muscles would not keep them from causing some damage. He tried to head-butt him but Margzat was too tall. He could not reach up to bite his neck and finish him off that way, so he did the next best thing and buried his fangs in his armourless chest. Margzat growled and winced in pain as Praktash planted vicious bites all over his pecs and biceps, tearing and tugging at the flesh. Slowly but surely, he began to notice that the krîtar did nothing to retaliate in any way, and slowly his fear gave way to anger.  
”What the fuck is wrong with ya?” he snarled, spraying the giant Uruk's own blood into his face. ”You stupid fuckin' idiot, let me go an' I'mma kill ya!”  
”I'm thinkin' 'at's a proper good reason not to,” Margzat rumbled. ”'M I wrong?”  
”Yeah you are! You're _all_ wrong, nothin's ever been more wrong in this whole stupid world! Let go o' me!!” He let out a furious bellow as Margzat refused to obey; he roared every profanity and foul name he could come up with until his voice was so hoarse that he could only croak. Soon he was gasping, completely out of breath. Margzat had borne the abuse without saying a word; he had slowly lowered his forehead down against Praktash's own and begun to purr, but it was not a purr of contentment or joy. Praktash had never heard such a sound before; the cadence of it made the pain in his chest bloom and he soon had to fight back the tears.  
”I hate you,” Praktash whispered. ”I hate you so fuckin' much!!”  
”I'm thinkin' I deserve ev'ry bit o' it,” Margzat murmured in his ear.  
”Nar, you deserve far worse!”  
”If ya say so, Bu-”  
” _Don't_ fuckin' call me by that bloody nickname; I'll gut ya if you do!” Praktash snarled as Margzat's eyes met his. ”You won't get away with this! Graz'll strip the skin off your sorry back an' feed it to ya, an' you'll be sayin' 'thank you' for every mouthful!!”  
”I'm thinkin' I will. But only if ye're the one to do it.” The sincerity in his voice made Praktash's heart ache. He kicked hard and took Margzat completely unawares; the big Uruk let out a wheezy grunt as Praktash's knee connected with his crotch and Praktash dove for the door the moment the arms around him relaxed. But Margzat recovered surprisingly fast and caught him by the ankle; after a brief but vicious fight Praktash was pinned to the wall once again.  
”What the fuck do you _want,_ you idiot?!”  
”I'm thinkin' I can't tell ya that yet,” Margzat rumbled.  
”Why the fuck not?!”  
”'Cause ye're not listenin' to me.”  
”Let me go!!” Praktash roared. ”Leave me the fuck alone! I hate you, you block-headed oaf!”  
Margzat grinned a little. ”'Oaf'? What happened to 'horsehung hand humper'?”  
That grin made Praktash reach the end of his self-control. He did not even care to hide the tears as they came. He clung desperately to the only solid point available as he voiced months of pent up grief and longing against the hated krîtar's shoulder, drinking in that lovely, spicy scent that he had wanted so badly for so long. The knowledge that it was the last time he hugged this warm, strong body made the pain even worse until he thought he would go insane from it all.  
_I can't do this, I don't want him to go! I don't care what happens, I just want my 'Zat back!!_

  
Praktash slowly let go of Margzat's waist as his knees gave out. Margzat followed him down and squatted above him as he curled into a ball on the dirty floor. He felt so weak, how could anyone ever want such a pathetic little snotrag? Not tough, strong, patient Margzat, that was for sure. He had made that perfectly clear; he wanted a real Uruk, not a simpering little sweet-faced wannabe snaga who let himself get topped by anything with a cock. There was no going back to what had been, it had all just been a wonderful dream. Too good to be true... and it was time to return to reality.  
”Just go,” Praktash whispered and could hardly believe that he had said the words.  
”Praktash..?” Margzat's voice was full of confusion.  
He took a deep, trembling breath to steady his voice. ”If you're gonna leave, then leave... Just go, now.”  
”Who said I was gonna leave?”  
Praktash fell silent while processing this new information. Then he shot up and Margzat bellowed as the healer's fist crashed into his foot. The giant Uruk fell to the floor and Praktash leapt to his feet, showering him with hard kicks and punches. Margzat curled into a ball in turn and tried to protect his sensitive parts from the onslaught. Praktash finished it by taking one of the empty crates and hurling it at him. It connected in an explosion of dust and splintered, rotted wood.  
Praktash gasped for air. Margzat did not move and once the dust had settled and his mind began to function again, he realised what he had done. ”'Zat..? 'Zat! Fuck, I'm sorry! 'Zat, please, for fuck's sake-”  
Margzat could not fake his death for long; as Praktash squatted beside him, he sneezed hard and made the redhead Uruk jump away with a terrified yelp. Praktash landed arse-first in the pile of rotten, dry crates, sending up another plume of dust as he did so. They both coughed, sneezed and snorted for a while. Then they looked at each other. Both were a mess; Margzat bled from numerous bite marks and Praktash was not much better off; he was covered in little scratches from where Margzat's claws had caught him as they struggled. On top of that, they were both covered in white dust from top to toe.

They stared at each other for a while. Then Margzat gave Praktash a 'come hither' leer and began to chuckle. Praktash let out an apprehensive little giggle that soon escalated into all-out hysterical laughter that Margzat joined. Soon they were both howling with laughter and every shared glance made it worse.  
”Stooop,” Praktash moaned. ”I can't breathe!” Margzat tried to reply but he was laughing too hard to speak.  
”Skai karkatulûk!” he managed to exclaim after a while and fell onto his back.  
”Is that a promise?” Praktash snickered.  
”Nar,” the krîtar murmured. ”Karkatalt-ashi. _'At's_ a promise.”  
”Careful now. Don't say stuff you'll regret.”  
”I'm thinkin' 'at piss-bucket's bloody full by now,” Margzat replied as he sat up. Then he chuckled. ”Ye're bloody terrifyin' when ye're pissed, ya know that?”  
”That makes two of us then,” Praktash replied. Then he gave him an apprehensive, bashful look. ”So... You're not leavin'?”  
”Nar. Or, I am, but... I'll be back. I'm not ditchin' ya. Unless ya want me to, that is.”  
Praktash snorted as he crawled over. ”What kinda stupid d'you take me for?”  
”I'm not gonna answer that,” Margzat replied and grinned as Praktash straddled him. ”Not with yer knee up 'gainst my crotch; I value those parts.”  
Praktash grinned and could not resist rubbing up against him a little. Margzat whimpered, but not from pleasure.  
”What's wrong?” Praktash asked with a frown.  
”Ya kinda... broke me in pretty good back there,” Margzat groaned. ”Ya really pack a punch when ya wanna. Got bruises high'n low from this tumble.”  
”Well, you kinda deserved it.”  
”Aye... Kinda.”  
Praktash ran a finger over Margzat's mauled chest. ”I'll clean this up for ya.”  
”No need to, I can-”  
” _I'll clean this up,_ an' you'll shut up about it! What?!” he growled as Margzat grinned like an idiot. The krîtar lifted a claw and poked the bridge of his nose.  
”Right here,” Margzat murmured.  
”Right here what?!”  
”There's this little crease right there, between yer eyes... Only shows when ye're real pissed, real happy or real close to spunkin'.”  
Praktash made a face of embarrassment. ”What about it?”  
”'S just... I fancy it, real much...”  
”Are you gettin' cute with me?!” He squeaked as Margzat pulled him down with a thundering growl.  
”So what if I am?! Deal with it, Bukrazikh!” Then he rolled over and sat up so fast that Praktash had no clue what happened until he suddenly found himself lying on his back on the floor with his hips in the krîtar's lap, legs splayed wide around his waist.  
”I thought you said you were done in?”  
”Aye, ya might've kicked my cock into malfunctionin' for now... But I've got other ways to treat ya right.” Margzat licked his thumb and wiggled it at him with a suggestive leer.  
”Nar... Nar!” Praktash tried to wriggle free. ”I told ya, I won't let things go just like that!”  
Margzat held him fast just long enough for Praktash's anger to flare, but then he let him go with a sigh. Praktash pulled away and sat down crosslegged in front of him, just out of reach. Margzat did not look at him but toyed with a splinter on the floor; his reluctance gave Praktash some time to gather his thoughts before he spoke.  
”So... About the whole snaga thing...”  
Margzat scowled without looking up. ”Aye... Took a while to wrap my head 'round.”  
Praktash gave him an incredulous look. ”We've been on the road for _months!_ ”  
”Thick skull'n all 'at,” Margzat grinned. Then he grew serious. ”But I'm thinkin' I've made up my mind now. I'm stayin'. Told yer master, _our_ master, just afore I tracked ya down.”  
”Oh, come _on!_ You didn't 'track' anythin', you just happened to bump into me on your way out.” >  
”But I _did_ plan on what I'd do if 'at happened,” Margzat said with a leer. Then he cocked his head. ”Ye're shakin'.”  
Praktash nodded. ”Yeah, I took a stroll on the battlements.”  
”In this weather?! Why?”  
”Get a bit o' fresh air,” he said sheepishly.  
”I'm thinkin' ya got a bit o' fresh water too,” Margzat chuckled. ”Crazy li'l Clawless...” Then he held out his arms. ”Come 'ere, Bukrazikh. Let's see 'bout gettin' ya outta those wet rags.”  
”Since when did you get all cute?”  
”Dun' like it? I can start treatin' ya like shit again.”  
”Then it's knee-crotch-time again.”  
”I'm thinkin' I'll keep it cute, then.”

Praktash let Margzat remove his armour and strip him down to his loincloth. Then the giant Uruk pulled his shirt off and handed it to him.  
”This is stupid,” Praktash protested. ”I can't wear this! I'll trip on the hem!”  
”It's not _'at_ big,” Margzat replied with a grin. ”But I'm thinkin' ya could skip the loincloth.”  
”Bet you do,” Praktash chuckled as he got up. He strutted around the room, flaunting whatever skin could be seen through the badly patched, over-sized leather shirt to Margzat's great delight.  
”Ye're askin' for it, Bukrazikh!”  
”Maaaybe...”  
”Well, 's not gonna happen. I'm bruised.”  
”Aww, but 'Zaaaat!”  
”Nar, not 'Zaaat'. Get back 'ere,” Margzat chuckled. Praktash obeyed and straddled his lap, but not before he had dug through his belt pockets in search of a jar of healing salve. He used his soaked shirt to wipe the dust from the krîtar's chest wounds and began to slather them with salve. When he was done, Margzat took the jar and returned the favour on the scratches he had accumulated.  
”Just one more,” Margzat murmured against his neck when he was done. ”One short li'l trip, then I'll be all yours.”  
”Where you goin'?”  
”Nurza-Shûk. 'S just a routine report, no idea why they ask me to come in person but 'at's how it is. I'll rejoin ya when ya pass through.”  
”I bloody hope you will,” Praktash mumbled against his chest. ”Just... be careful, alright? I don't like the sound of this.”  
”Now ye're soundin' like Graznikh,” Margzat chuckled. Praktash chuckled as well, but then his mirth gave way to apprehensiveness. Margzat sensed his change of mood and bumped his fist against Praktash's chest. ”Give it up, I told ya I'm over it!”  
Praktash grinned sheepishly. ”Still a bit hard to wrap my head around...”  
”'Round what? Me bein' back?”  
”M-hm.”  
”So what, he gave ya an earful o' 'what'd I tell ya'?”  
”Not precisely...”  
Margzat's eyes narrowed. ”Then... What _did_ he say?”  
Praktash shrugged and looked away. ”He said that... That I shouldn't give up so easily. That you might come back once your brain started workin' again.”  
The tough, stoic mask fell off Margzat's face and gave way to raw astonishment. He pulled Praktash a little closer as he turned this latest piece of information over in his head. Praktash protested a little at first, but when his krîtar did not react he decided to make the best of the situation instead and settled against his warm, hard chest with a little purr.

Margzat tried to comprehend why Graznikh had said what Praktash claimed. If Margzat and Praktash got back together, Graznikh was undoubtedly the one who would lose. Margzat could see no way in which the little pale Orc would gain from the deal. If he had been in Graznikh's shoes, he would have tried to steer Praktash away from the dalliance, not back towards it. Had Graznikh had enough of the redhead, now that he was back in his master's good graces? Or was he thinking to pull Margzat's strings by giving him something, or rather some _one,_ that he knew he wanted? No matter how he tried, Margzat could not see what machinations his rival was working on. But then he thought about the High Officer's words in Rhûn, and it all clicked into place. _He's Lug-snaga; his master wants me collared! 'Course he'd do what he can to get it done._ Content with being in control of the situation once more, he glanced down at Praktash with a grin only to find that his redhead had fallen asleep. ”Bukrazikh?”  
”Zz-mnuh?!” Praktash exclaimed and jerked awake. ”What?”  
Margzat chuckled. ”Dun' fall asleep on me now.”  
”Then quit bein' so comfy.”  
That made Margzat laugh. ”I'm thinkin' 'at's the first time I've been accused o' _that_ particular flaw.”  
”Shut up then, or I'll accuse ya of somethin' else.”  
”Like what?”  
”Like bein' a thick, slow, daft, stupid moron.”  
”I'm thinkin' ye're right about 'at,” Margzat chuckled. ”Can't believe I'm goin' back to bein' a Lug-durbatar's snaga, not after near riskin' my life to get outta it.”  
Praktash's eyes widened a little. Then he pushed Margzat's hands away and tried to stand, but Margzat held him fast.  
”Lemme go.”  
”I'm thinkin' we've been through this already, Bukrazikh.” Margzat took a tighter grip and Praktash stopped struggling, but he refused to meet his gaze and remained tense and distant. They sat in silence for a while before Praktash spoke.  
”What was it like?” he asked quietly. ”Livin'... in there.”  
Margzat shrugged. ”Dull. Wasn't much o' anythin' to do there, 'cept followin' orders. Sure, we got sent to th' Desolation every now an' then to let off steam, but other than that...” He gave him a narrow-eyed glance. ”But ya knew that, didn'tcha? Ya were in the bootcamps too.”  
”I wasn't talkin' about the bootcamps.”  
Margzat bit his forked tongue at first, but eventually decided to voice the question. ”So... How long were ya in there, afore..?”

At first he regretted it; Praktash tensed even more, his muscles were like taut bowstrings under his skin and Margzat almost expected him to bolt. But then he let out an exasperated little sigh and closed his eyes for a moment. He did not open them as he replied.  
”Not for long. A couple months, at most.”  
”So 'at talk o' ya bein' garrisoned..?”  
”Yeah, I lied! What of it?!”  
”Nuthin', nuthin'... I'm thinkin' ya got yer reasons.”  
Praktash snorted. ”Yeah, 'cause I'm a coward.”  
”I'm thinkin' ye're the toughest coward I ever met, then,” Margzat grinned and grunted as Praktash punched him in the side. ”So ya bent th' truth; what of it? Half the folks in this bagronk're liars'n cheats an' it's even worse in Lugburz proper. What's more, most of 'em do it for no other reason than 'at they can, no thought for if they can get away with it or not. An' they keep at it even when ya dangle th' proof under their noses.”  
Praktash tried desperately to continue sulking, but he could not help but bite his lip. It got even harder to keep the mask at the sight of the krîtar's lazy leer.  
”You,” he rumbled and poked the redhead's nose with a claw, ”'s got a dirty mind! Out with it!”  
”You sure it was proof you were danglin' under their noses? ...Fuck you!” Margzat's warm laughter forced him to smile as well, but it did not last. ”Tell me somethin'.”  
”Anythin'.”  
”You said you were the... That you worked for... Y'know.”  
”Doorguard, aye. What of it?”  
”Did you ever... meet me?”  
Margzat sat quiet for a moment, studying his face. Then he shook his head slowly. ”Nar. I saw no Praktash back there.”  
Praktash let out a breath he was not even aware that he had been holding Margzat's lip curled a little without quite becoming a grin. ”Bad?”  
”Worse than bad...” He winced. ”I fucked an' tortured... Got fucked an' tortured. Sometimes both. Sometimes the fuckin' _was_ the torture.” After a moment of silence, he added: ”Do me a favour.”  
”Anythin'.”  
”Don't ever bring this up again. I left all that behind me for a reason, an' I want it to stay there. Far, _far_ behind me.”  
Margzat nodded. ”Got it. Can't say I'm not curious, but I'll leave it be. Whatever happened in the past'll stay there, unless ya ever wanna bring it up.”  
”I don't,” Praktash snapped. Then he winced and gave Margzat an apologetic glance. ”I didn't...”  
”Not to worry Bukrazikh,” Margzat chuckled. ”'At fieryness's what I like about ya, after all. _One_ thing I like. One o' many.”  
”Keep up with the sweet-talk an' I'mma walk outta here,” Praktash growled before his face cracked up into a grin.  
”Walk, is it?” Margzat purred with a leer. ”I'm thinkin' you'll be _crawlin'_.” His split tongue slithered out of the corner of his mouth, toying with a fang. Despite it all, Praktash could not keep a little purr of anticipation from escaping at the sight and his grin soon turned from happy to challenging. ”I warned ya 'bout the sweet-talk.”  
”Dun' like it? Fuck off then,” Margzat replied.  
  
They sized each other up for a moment before Praktash shot to his feet, a move that Margzat had obviously been anticipating. He did not get more than three steps away before the krîtar's thick, rock-hard arms wrapped around his waist and a kick to his ankles felled him. Praktash tried to escape, but no amount of wriggling got him free. Margzat slowly worked his way down his abdomen, forked tongue dancing over the sensitive skin and making him squirm from pleasure and ticklishness in equal measure.  
”Consider this a taste o' what I plan on doin' to ya once I'm back,” Margzat purred as he untied Praktash's loincloth. Praktash surrendered all thoughts of escape as his semi-hard cock disappeared into Margzat's mouth. He had enjoyed this kind of attention before, but the sensation that a split tongue caused was a unique one that he intended to savour. And Margzat was both good and enthusiastic about using it.  
”Where'd you learn this?!”  
”I'm thinkin' we've all sucked cock for our superiors,” Margzat replied as he replaced his mouth with his hands. ”I've even sucked a few High Officers. Might as well be good at it; bein' a disappointment's usually a painful position.”  
”You said 'once I'm back'... What're you doin'?”  
”Reportin' in to the Census Archive,” Margzat replied and grinned as Praktash whimpered under his hands. ”Probably just want some questions answered 'bout the transfer, happens a lot.”  
”They can't ask Za-... Záho-... Oohh..!”  
”Probably could,” Margzat chuckled, ”but they didn't. I'm not gonna mess with 'em; paper-turners can be touchy. Speakin' o' touch...” He returned his mouth to the task at hand and let out a deep, vibrating growl. Moments later, Praktash let out a keening moan.  
  
”So which one o' us is best?” Margzat asked much later as he wiped his hands on his breeches.  
”Don't go there,” Praktash warned, still panting a little from exertion.  
”Nar? He's that good?”  
”I told ya-”  
”An' _I_ told ya I'm over it! Just curious, is all.”  
”...He is.”  
Margzat chuckled as he beat the dust off his knees. ”I'm thinkin' he's got to be a special little guy.”  
”You have no fuckin' idea,” Praktash replied with a dreamy grin. ”Who knows, maybe you'll get to see him in action some time... After Záhovar sets him straight, that is.”  
  
  
Meanwhile, Graznikh had had enough of being alone and left the guest quarters to seek out Záhovar. He found her in bed with Sulmurz.  
”Alright then,” he muttered. ”I'll come back another time.”  
”No, you will not.”  
He turned back. ”Why not?”  
”Thought you that I would abandon you? Get into bed immediately; that is an order, Lug-snaga!”  
”Alright,, alright” he replied with a wicked little leer as he stripped. ”Just remember; you _asked_ for this!” Then he took aim and pounced. Záhovar squeaked and Sulmurz howled as Graznikh landed on top of them both.  
”I'm not okay with this,” Sulmurz groaned as he shoved the laughing Orc off.  
”So we're all done now?” Graznikh asked as he settled down beside his master. ”Back to just being one big, happy, fucked-up family? Nice necklace, by the way.”  
”If this is a necklace, you've got one too!” Sulmurz retorted.  
”Bleeding shitends, you're right! She's so kind, our master, giving us all such pretty jewelry to wear.”  
”Now you're soundin' like the Uruk.”  
”Speaking of Uruks; where is he?” Záhovar asked.  
”He said he was taking a walk on the battlements,” Graznikh replied. ”He promised he wouldn't do anything stupid.” He gave her an odd look. ”Why're you grinning like that?”  
”Because I told Margzat to take that route out of the fortress after he came here and asked me to make him Lug-snaga.”  
”Made up his mind, has he?” Graznikh chuckled as she nodded. ”So we're not one but _two_ Lug-snaga richer. _And_ we got to off Dachman.” He snuggled down with a big, happy grin. ”Everything's gonna go back to normal now, I just know it!”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vîzhnik - butterfly  
> Karkatulûk – Fuck them all  
> Karkatalt-ashi – lit. fuck-you-alone. '-Ashi' is difficult to translate; it indicates that the person, thing or phenomenon it's attached to is unique, that there is only one of that person, thing or phenomenon in the world. For example, the One Ring is 'Nazg-ashi' but the other Rings of Power are not since there is more than one of each sort. To use it about oneself to indicate individuality or uniqueness (gur-ashi) is a sign of grotesque hubris and frowned upon in the Black Land, where such thinking is discouraged (all are exchangeable parts of the greater whole). Simply put, Margzat just pledged himself to complete monogany, so his little statement is far more significant that it first appears.
> 
> Wow. What a ride (shut up Praktash). This part grew WAY longer than I expected, there were times when I thought I would never be able to finish it and a lot of things happened that I had no idea would happen before the words appeared on the screen. I want to give a big Thank You to those who managed to stick with me to the end. Mind you, while this part is done, the story is not. In the next part a different kind of journey will begin, unwanted by all yet forced upon them nonetheless...


End file.
